Much Has Changed
by Ephemeral Effervescence
Summary: In a world ruled by Voldemort, Harry struggles to shelter those who seek protection while also searching for horcruxes. Meanwhile, a certain blonde wizard leads his own small group of assassins, and strangely, their targets are Death Eaters. H/D slash. Please don't read if you're not into it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 1**

"That's odd."

Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice jolted Harry out of his musings. He glanced up from where he sat staring moodily at a map of Britain. His eyes were weary from deciphering the too small letters. Finally, after three years, he was used to the absence of glasses on his face, and without hesitation, he brought his hands to his eyes. Once he rubbed his eyes roughly with hands scuffed with ink, he spotted Kingsley standing at the opposite end of the office they shared facing slightly away from him. For a short while, Harry gazed silently at the man in robes of deep magenta, quickly spotting the many small signs that signified how badly ill his old partner really was. "What's wrong?" he finally asked.

Kingsley turned away from the window he was facing and made his way toward Harry's desk. Harry pretended not to notice the other man's shaking limbs and the sweat that had formed on his dark skin. Upon reaching the desk, Kingsley waved a small, wrinkled piece of parchment. "The aurors we sent to Peterhead are requesting to be sent back home."

Harry looked back down at the map, searching for the city among the mess of tiny black print. "Peterhead…controlled by that Death Eater with the big wart on his chin, right? Wilson?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Not anymore. Wilson's dead. Peterhead is ours."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry leaned back in his chair, impressed. "That was fast. I gave them their orders only last night."

Kingsley sighed and plopped down onto the chair opposite the desk. "Wilson was already dead when Rees found him. His subordinates are also dead. I presume the dementors had already headed back to Voldemort when Wilson could no longer give any more orders." He raised a hand and absently rubbed a shoulder, grimacing as he did so. "I don't understand. That's the fifth high-ranking Death Eater killed this month. Granted, they all controlled only small cities, but something like this happening without our knowledge…" Kingsley trailed off, looking at Harry curiously.

Harry scowled in response. "What? Do you think _I_ did it? I snuck off in the middle of the night and killed those Death Eaters?"

Kingsley grinned, showing off bright white teeth. "I wouldn't be surprised. It's been a while since you've gone on a mission, and I know you're getting restless."

"I _am_ restless. I'm tired of sitting in this room and telling everyone to run off risking their lives while I sit here and do nothing." Harry rested his feet on his desk and leaned further back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. "But it wasn't me. Of course it couldn't be me. Instead of doing something useful, I'm stuck on this wild goose chase, searching for these bloody horcruxes." He glanced disgustedly at the tall piles of maps, books, and parchment scrolls placed haphazardly about the room.

"What you're doing is important, and you know it," Kingsley replied sternly. Looking at Harry more closely, he noticed that the young man looked more than a little bit frazzled. The normally bright green eyes were dull and half-closed. Despite being off the field in only a few weeks, his skin had lost the healthy tan that everyone was used to. His jet-black hair stuck up straight in every direction, giving him the look of a mad professor. Kingsley smiled and his eyes softened. "The sooner you find something, the sooner you can head out and destroy another horcrux, and we'll be one step closer in defeating Voldemort. But you know," Kingsley's smile grew more earnest. "Everyone is more comfortable with you here, where they can see you. You're their hero, and when they can't see you every day, they get uneasy. It's hard enough reassuring the muggles with you here. Once you leave, they will be unbearable. You know wizards were the ones who forced them from their homes. They don't trust us here. They only trust you."

"I haven't trained all these years just to stay here and comfort these people, Kingsley." Harry snapped open his eyes to glare at the other man, vibrant green to deep brown. "My job is to be out there, fighting Death Eaters and bringing more people here, where it's safe."

It was Kingsley's turn to raise an eyebrow. "So you'd rather thrust your research back into Hermione's hands and run back into the thick of things?"

Harry flushed and looked away. He hated when Kingsley managed to make him feel like a child getting scolded. "No," he mumbled.

Kingsley chuckled. "Just give her a few more weeks. I heard this was one of her more difficult births. Once she's fit to return to work, I'm sure your team will be glad to have their leader back."

Harry gave a self-deprecating smile. "I know." He looked up past Kingsley and gazed wistfully through the window on the opposite wall. "I owe it to them," he said softly. "I brought Voldemort back into our world, so it's my duty to protect them from him."

With a grunt, Kingsley stood up. He placed a heavy hand upon Harry's head. "You're not alone, son. Voldemort may have the upper hand now, but we're steadily gaining ground. Remind me to show you the new wing we've added in the east side." After ruffling his hair, Kingsley turned and headed toward the exit.

Harry nodded, eyes already falling back to the map. "Remember to rest, Kingsley."

"Ah," Kingsley paused by the door. "What about the mysterious deaths? Do you think we should look into them?"

Harry pursed his lips, thinking. "Whoever's killing them isn't harming us. As long as that person stays out of our way, I don't think we should spare anyone to investigate the matter. We're stretched too thin already."

Kingsley gave Harry one last smile before opening the door and stepping through. "Wise choice, oh, great leader," Harry heard him say before the door was shut.

Smiling, Harry cracked his knuckles and got back to work.

O_O

A team of four aurors lounged contentedly in the middle of a deserted street in downtown Peterhead. Besides them, there seemed to be no sign of life in the city. Abandoned cars, emptied buildings, and scattered garbage surrounded the wizards. The absence of birdcalls, voices, and movement made the air thick with silence. Despite the eeriness of the place, the sky was clear and the wind breezed pleasantly among the aurors.

The youngest and least experienced of the aurors leaned his back against a white sedan, tapping his wand against the wheel to a rhythm only he could understand. "It's kinda nice here," he commented, looking around him. He was young, barely an adult, but he did not feel intimidated in this group of men who were old enough to be his father. He smiled around at his team. "Don't you agree?"

"It's fucking creepy here," a gruff voice answered. The voice belonged to a great brute of a man with a mess of curly, auburn hair. "Once Boss gives the go ahead, we'll use the portkey immediately to return home."

"That doesn't make any sense, James. You find a deserted city creepy, and yet you fight Death Eaters and dementors everyday." the young man said, picking up and throwing an empty soda can at James' head.

"Shut it, Dave," a lean, lanky man sighed. This auror had a band of gray wrapped around his right upper arm, signifying him as the squad's leader. "If you want, I'll be happy to leave you here."

Dave sat up and shook his head, as well as both of his hands. "No need, Rees." He grinned cheekily. "There's someone I'm looking forward to see again back home. She's a muggle. Before I left, she told me that she will teach me how to play football. You see, football's a sport like…"

"Nobody gives a shit, boy." James interrupted in his customary growl. "There still might be enemies lurking about here. We don't need your big gob alerting them. Erik!" he called loudly to the man standing a slight distance apart from them, despite what he had just said. "Any signs of humans?"

The small, dark man shook his head in reply, never keeping his gaze at one place for too long. Even the slightest movement made by a living creature would not go unnoticed under his keen eyes.

Rees shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly disturbed about something. "What do you guys think about Wilson?"

"It looked like he died while sleeping. No blood, no signs of any struggle in bed," commented Dave.

"_Avada kedavra_, you think?" James questioned.

"No," Erik entered the conversation. "I couldn't detect that particular spell's residue. Wilson was recently killed, so I should've been able to sense it if it had been used. He was killed another way." He lifted a hand and pointed to the sky. "Falcon coming."

The group waited in silence, staring up at the bird gliding toward them. Once they could see its outspread wings, the bird narrowed itself and dived to the ground. Just when they thought it would crash fatally on the cement, it managed to pull itself into a graceful landing. The falcon gazed up at Rees and held out its leg.

Chuckling, Rees bent to untie the piece of parchment. "He sent his own falcon. We should feel honored, boys." He ignored James' snort and Dave's cooing at the bird and read the short message. "Alright. They've given us the all clear. The portkey can now be activated." The auror smiled at each of his teammate. "Two hundred and thirty six people. Just a few hours ago, we evacuated two hundred and thirty six people. They're probably just settling in now, huh?"

James grunted. "Just what the hell will we do when there's no more space?"

Erik frowned. "Once they create a strong enough ward, we'd be able to move back aboveground. We've got plenty of abandoned cities to choose from."

Dave laughed. "Oh, that would be grand. To _live_ right beneath the sky again...I'd be the first to volunteer to live up here. That lucky Harry Potter living way up high in his tower…"

For a few moments, the aurors gazed up at the sky together. "Enough," Rees finally said. "Let's go home."

O_O

"It's about bloody time they left," Blaise Zabini growled under his breath. Currently, he crouched upon the roof of a high building, staring at the spot where the four aurors had disappeared. Due to his disillusionment charm, he had been invisible even to that impressive falcon.

Sighing gratefully, Blaise stood up and stretched. He had kept watch on the aurors for almost three hours straight, not moving a muscle in case he alerted one of them. Several times, the breeze threatened to blow him off the wall and down to a messy death below. Blaise couldn't help but smirk at the thought of the aurors' expressions if he were to suddenly fall smack onto the ground near them.

Stepping down from the wall and onto the roof floor, Blaise ended the disillusionment charm. Before he could take another step toward the door leading into the building, the door opened and Draco Malfoy, his closest childhood friend since his third year of Hogwarts, poked his head through. Seeing Blaise, Draco gave a cheerful smile. "Oh, good," he said. "I can see you. Does that mean they left?"

Blaise nodded and walked the last few steps until he stood only a few feet from the slender, silver-blond haired man. "Just a few minutes ago."

"Perfect." Draco held the door open, gesturing grandly for Blaise to pass through. Blaise rolled his eyes, but crossed the door without further comment. He proceeded to climb down the flight of steps with Draco following close behind. "Greg actually managed to contact me a little while ago. According to him, our last target might be attending a gala next Saturday night."

Blaise frowned thoughtfully. "A gala? Don't tell me you're saying that's our opportunity to kill him?"

Draco shrugged, even though he knew Blaise couldn't see him. "Why not? It'll be different."

"At a gala…" Blaise repeated.

"Offing Wilson was child's play. Our next target should be more challenging." Draco continued.

"…where there will be plenty of witnesses…"

"I mean, really. His wards were pathetic. His subordinates were second-rate."

"…and innocents?"

"We'll have a bloody great time with this one, Blaise."

Blaise slowed down, allowing Draco to move past him. He stared at the back of the blond head in silence. The bright locks seemed to glow in the dimness, but Blaise wasn't interested in his friend's most prized feature. He wondered what went on in Draco's head. He wondered what his old friend felt, thought, liked, and feared. He had made it a personal mission to understand this unreachable person when he first made the choice to abandon his own aspirations to follow the silver-eyed boy almost ten years ago. They had been through much, and yet, he was no closer to solving the mystery behind those eternally shuttered eyes. Shaking his head slowly in fond exasperation, Blaise said, "You're going to get us all killed one day, Draco."

Draco waved a hand carelessly. "We survived this long, haven't we? I'm sure we have a few good years left in us." He glanced slyly over his shoulder. "Don't think I've forgotten your birthday tomorrow. Forgive me, but I don't think I can find twenty seven candles in such a short time."

Blaise grinned. "No need. Greg might think they are candies and eat them again."

"Shame." Draco stuffed both his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. "I was looking forward to a real birthday celebration." He shrugged. "Ah well. I can try conjuring some, I guess. Congratulations on another year of cheating death, my friend. Let's hope it won't be till a while yet until we perish from this dangerous lifestyle of ours."

"Well," Blaise placed a hand on Draco's slightly bony shoulder. "Until then, I've got your back as always, Draco."

**O_O**

**AN:** The original characters in this chapter won't be coming back. I just needed them to set the scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 2**

Gentle wind tussled Draco's hair, the only sign of movement on the tall, lean man. He sat crossed legged, straight backed, and unmoving upon grass wet with morning dew, eyes lightly closed. His hands rested upon each knee with not even the smallest twitch of a finger. The vivid morning sun beamed down through tangles of tree branches to reflect almost painfully brightly against his platinum head.

A short distance away laid the remains of a campfire gone cold. Tiny puffs of ash stirred in the breeze, but no amount of oxygen could coax the fire back into life. Around the campfire, four human-shaped lumps breathed deeply in slumber. Rough blankets covered them from head to toe, blocking out the sun's rays. The small group had been too tired for even a simple conjuring charm when they returned to the campsite just last night after the success at Peterhead.

A swift's chirp caused one of the lumps to stir. Struggling slightly with the blanket, Blaise poked his head out of the thick fabric and looked around him, squinting his eyes against the brightness. Immediately, he spotted Draco but did not call out to him, just in case the blond had succeeded in falling asleep while sitting up.

Blaise threw the blanket off him and stood up with a little difficulty. He hated sleeping on the grass as his back always paid dearly for it. After stretching, he made his way quietly toward a secluded area to relieve himself. As he passed by the still blond, he spotted a pile of clear vials near Draco's foot and immediately felt his stomach drop sharply in dread. All of the vials, save for one, contained smoky gray wisps. Struggling to prevent himself from grabbing his friend's thin shoulders and shaking them in frustration, Blaise bent down and gathered up the bottles, throwing them carelessly into the sack near Draco's side. Several of the bottles held more than one wisp, containing more than one memory. Keeping as quiet as he could, Blaise gritted his teeth and muttered indistinctly to himself.

Once all of the bottles containing memories were hidden away, Blaise looked up at Draco's face, and his heart almost stopped when he saw tears leaking steadily out of pale eyelids. "Draco," he exclaimed aloud, too shocked to remember it was dangerous to disturb him while he was in this state.

Abruptly, muted gray eyes snapped open, locking onto Blaise's hazel eyes automatically. Smoky tendrils floated delicately among the gray pupils, giving the appearance of blind eyes. For several seconds, the two wizards stared at each other, neither letting out the breaths they held. Finally, Draco blinked, dislodging a few more tears that clung to his eyelashes as well as dissipating the smoke in his pupils.

Blaise sat back and let out his breath in a big whoosh. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" he grumbled, glaring at the pale face. "Sorry," he added. "I thought I lost you for a moment there."

Calmly, Draco picked up his wand on his lap and pointed it at his forehead. After removing the wisp of memory and replacing it into the empty bottle, he said, "This one had a family. He had a wife and three daughters. He became a Death Eater so he could feed them, so he could keep them alive." His voice was dull and emotionless, almost robotic, and he gazed blankly at nothing over Blaise's shoulder.

His stomach flipping uncomfortably in worry, Blaise searched for something to say that would bring Draco from this empty shell he always became after seeing the memories of those he killed. "He probably tortured and killed dozens of people in his lifetime," Blaise replied. "Listen, if killing bothers you so much, I'll go in next time instead. You don't need to torture yourself by doing this. At least use a fucking pensieve."

Draco absently wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. "Don't worry yourself about this, Blaise. It won't prevent me from doing my job."

"It's an unnecessary risk," Blaise growled. "I thought the memory overwhelmed you when I called your name. You're no use to anyone if you go loony." He snatched the vial away from Draco's hand and dropped it into the sack with the others. "You're needlessly hurting yourself over them. We killed them and the world gets better. You don't agree?"

A surge of relief swept through Blaise when he recognized annoyance stirring behind suddenly alive gray eyes. "I don't give a fuck about the Death Eaters we killed," Draco said bluntly. In one fluid motion, he stood up and grabbed the sack of memories from Blaise's unsuspecting hands. "Go wake up the others; we need to do some reconnaissance for the gala." Then, he turned and headed deeper into the forest, no doubt stashing the memories among the others that he had accumulated over the years.

Blaise stared after him incredulously. It was moments like these that reminded him of how very little he understood his old friend. Draco had sounded so confident when he said he didn't care about the Death Eaters, but why must he go through all the trouble with reliving the victims' memories?

Shaking his head slightly, Blaise headed back toward the campfire and saw that Gregory Goyle had awaken and was sitting up among his blankets. They gazed at each other for awhile before the big man said in his slow and deliberate voice, "He was doing it again." After Blaise nodded, Greg brought his hands together and played with his fingers. "Is he okay?"

Blaise grinned. "Of course he's fine. Don't worry yourself over him, Greg. He'll pull through. He always does."

O_O

It wasn't until the door to his office banged open when Harry realized he had been staring blankly through the window for quite awhile. He grinned when he saw his oldest friend Ron Weasley running to his desk. "Ron! I was just about to visit Hermione. Congrat…" Harry trailed off when he registered the look of panic on the freckled face.

"Harry! They're holding another gala this coming Saturday," Ron said breathlessly, his syllables tripping over each other in their hurry to leave his lips. He gripped the edge of Harry's desk tightly, whitening his knuckles.

Harry paled at the words. Death Eater celebrations never meant anything good for the Order of the Phoenix. The only cause for celebrating in Voldemort's capital was the execution of top Order members and aurors. Dreading to know the answer, Harry asked simply, "Who?"

"Ginny, Bill, and the rest of their team." Ron's answer came out in a whisper, as if he still could not believe the words coming out of his own mouth. "Harry, please. Let my team and I leave tonight. Voldemort's anti-apparition spells are still too strong to apparate directly into the capital. If my team and I apparate to the outskirts today, we'll be able to make our way to the Arx in three days and still have time left to plan a rescue."

Although it pained him to say it, as he cared deeply for Ginny and Bill, Harry gently reminded Ron, "You and your team are assigned to Swansea. You have to bring back that cargo coming in from Egypt. You _know_ that this job is crucial."

Ron stared at Harry disbelievingly. His eyes widened almost maniacally. "Harry…are you saying I can't go?" When Harry didn't reply, Ron let out a shaky breath. "No….no. My team can go to Swansea themselves. I will go to the Arx and bring back Bill's team." He leaned forward, gazing imploringly into Harry's eyes. "How about it, mate? My team's good enough without me. Jenkins is a good man with leader potential. He can be the temporary leader. I've been watching him closely, Harry. He's got all the qualities, all the skills. He can do it. He'll bring back the cargo safe and sound."

Harry listened to Ron's ramblings calmly, for he had thrust down his own feelings deep inside him, suppressing them so that only cold rational thoughts floated clearly in his head. His worry for Ginny and Bill was tucked safely away. He couldn't act like a friend now. He needed to be the leader his sanctuary needed. Harry understood that even the tiniest mistake made by him could collapse everything he and the Order had worked for, making them all an easy target of Voldemort's wrath at their resistance.

"No, Ron," Harry said, keeping his voice calm and quiet. Before Ron started shouting, Harry held up a hand. Ron widened his eyes and stared at the palm facing him, wearing a shocked expression as if he had been slapped. "I _need_ you to do this. You know our contact in Egypt trusts only you. If they see anyone else, they won't give up their cargo, and we desperately need that cargo." Harry leaned back in his chair and grinned. "I'll go get them instead, mate," he said.

Ron's face split into an answering smile, and he sighed in relief. "You will? Oh Merlin, that makes me feel…" he trailed off as he noticed the piles of maps Harry had been poring over. "But what about your research on the horcruxes? I know we still need to find…three more, was it?"

Harry nodded. "Voldemort's been alive for this long. I'll allow him an extra week or so."

Ron chuckled. "Thanks, Harry. This means a lot."

"No need to thank me; they're my family too," protested Harry. At Ron's uncomfortable look, Harry raised his eyebrow. "I'm glad that Ginny married Neville. I don't regret my time with her, and I don't regret giving her up. I want her back here safe just as much as you do."

Ron grinned and nodded. "I know, mate. I'm leaving this to you then."

Harry returned the nod. "Now go spend time with your new daughter before you have to leave."

Once the door to his office closed with Ron's departure, Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Despite his worry for Ginny, Bill, and the rest of the team, Harry couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of _leaving_ this damned tower and doing something worthwhile. He was pants at this research business and being forced to endure hours of the activity left him exhausted and grumpy.

Harry gathered the mess of parchment on his desk and tucked them into the pile destined to the archives. Smirking at the big pile of maps and accounts he had yet to go through, he got up from his seat and left the office with a spring in his step, twirling his wand with sudden restless fingers.

He had a team to assemble.

O_O

**AN: **Thanks for reading! Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 3**

The Arx. An obsidian thorn towering over even the Eiffel Tower disfigured the once beautiful land of southern England. A hollowed building that offered no windows but let in air through minuscule cracks that ran across its length. Sheer amounts of wards - protective and harmful - provided a shimmering appearance that made it seem as if the tower were a reflection upon the water's surface.

Surrounding this building was destruction similar to the results of a violent earthquake. Cracked and overturned concrete, collapsed buildings, rusting cars, and streetlights long since broken littered the deserted area.

At the edges of this ruin began the city known by its inhabitants as hell. Filled to overflowing with poor muggles and magical beings alike, the city reeked of hunger and suffering. Factories spit out clouds of dark gray fog that settled like a blanket around the tops of gray buildings. Those unfortunate enough to lose their homes huddled disconsolately in alleys and street corners, trying their best to ignore the pushes and kicks from impatient passersby.

This was an unforgiving and harsh city, void of mercy or kindness. People avoided eye contact, whether to prevent conflict or to shield themselves from the pain of others, no one quite knew. The city was never quiet. Moans of hunger, shouts from a drunken brawl, and yells from overseers to their workers who got paid fifty pence each hour were normal even in the darkest hour of the night.

The large stretch of hell ebbed as the city climbed north. Here, streets were wider, the buildings were less decrepit, and the people were much cleaner and well-fed. Children could be seen playing Quidditch on fields of freshly cut grass. No muggles or muggleborn wizards were allowed to live here. Only those with the least amount of dirty blood would be permitted to enter this stretch.

However, wizards and witches with the purest of blood lived in an area that practically gleamed white with its beauty. Muggle buildings and items were torn down and discarded to be replaced with buildings of bright white walls and clean cobbled streets. Each day, half-bloods or wizards with only faint traces of muggle-blood would traverse from their stretch to this place of almost eerie perfection. They would work, provide, and cater to the pure-bloods who presided here. Pure-bloods expected to be treated as if they were royalty and grabbed a ridiculously large plot of land to call their own. They spend their days in relaxation and sloth, throwing extravagant balls and partaking in friendly duels with one another. Occasionally, some would don their white masks and black hoods and descend violently upon previously untouched towns on unfortunate muggles for a spot of fun.

It was in this stretch that a platinum blond wizard now found himself in. His unusual silver-blond head currently kept hidden under the hood of an immaculate velvet cloak and boots painstakingly scrubbed until no traces of the forest could be seen upon their soles, Draco Malfoy sat inconspicuously in a corner of a scrupulously cleaned tavern, listening in on a Death Eater meeting concerning the razing of a small muggle village near the coast.

"We cannot burn the place down. The city is only a few kilometers away from the border of the Lord's illusion charm. If we interfere with the border, he will destroy us all."

"A few flames won't bring down the whole bloody spell, you dumb bint."

"No taking slaves or whores this time. Put the lot in the third tier."

"Why bother? That place is crowded enough as it is. I swear I smell that abominable place when I sleep. Just kill the lot. They are nothing."

"Yes, yes, kill them all. But then, what to do about the bodies?"

"That's why I suggested that we burn the place down. I haven't seen anything exciting in too long."

Just as Draco decided to give up and leave, a Death Eater spoke a name that made his ears perk up.

"You think Macnair will be interested? There are enough muggles in the town to satisfy even him."

Not realizing he was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw started to ache, Draco peered carefully at the group of well-dressed Death Eaters beneath his hood. After days of useless eavesdropping, someone finally had something to say about Voldemort's most infamous follower.

A witch dressed in a long gown of flowing blue silk cut a hand through the air dismissively. "I believe there will be a gala soon. They managed to catch a few rebels, I hear. Macnair will not risk missing his appointment."

"He really will be the executioner this time? I thought the old loon retired."

"It doesn't take much to swing the axe through their necks."

Draco smiled slightly and relaxed. He got what he came for. Finally, a confirmation that their target will indeed be at the gala. This should satisfy even his most reluctant ally. '_You hear that, Blaise? Old Macnair will be there; we won't be risking our skins for nothing.'_

A couple of minutes later, Draco heard his friend's reply in his head, although it was faint and shaky. '_Damn it, Draco. I'm sure the man will die soon without us even having to do anything. He's old enough to just drop dead at any moment.'_

'_Blaise, I will kill him. You don't have to come if you don't want to. I won't hold it against you.'_

When Draco heard no reply, he got up from his chair as quietly as possible and made his way toward the exit, pushing back his hood slightly to wink at the pretty bartender. The pale brunette answered with a nervous smile and a worried glance at the group of Death Eaters still arguing over how to kill an entire village.

'_Wait.'_ Blaise's abrupt voice in his head made Draco wince slightly. '_Should we warn that muggle village? Evacuate them?'_

'_Who do you think we are, Blaise? Harry Potter? No, I don't feel like a trip to the coast right now.' _Draco pushed open the heavy door of expensive agarwood and stepped onto the clean cobbled street outside. '_Besides, I already poisoned their drinks. They'll all be dead when they fall asleep tonight.'_

'_You think the rest of the Death Eaters won't notice that someone is targeting them?' _Blaise's voice sounded slightly annoyed.

'_Well, if they're on their guards, that'll only make it more interesting for me, wouldn't it?'_ The walk down the street was peaceful and pleasant. No one was about to cast him suspicious glances, a pleasant breeze brushed up against his skin, and best of all, he had gotten what he wanted.

Blaise's reply sounded exasperated. _You're fucking impossible, mate. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 4**

"I still think bringing Clarke was a stupid idea."

Having already heard the same comment repeatedly for the past few days, Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gave the slender woman walking beside him a smile instead. "Well, I think he'd be useful, you know, when Death Eaters are trying to kill us."

"Don't use that tone with me, boy. I may be a _meggle_, or whatever the hell you people call us, but I think I have more experience than you when it comes to rescue missions. A low-key infiltration and pick-up is our best bet in getting everyone out alive, _not _rushing in with guns blazing. In fact, I think I should just do this mission alone. You maggots will only get in my way."

Glancing at the slim, but muscular man walking stiffly ahead of them, far enough away to be unable to hear their conversation, Harry shook his head slowly from side to side. "I don't see Clarke agreeing with that idea. He'd want to kill as many Death Eaters as he can. Oh, and it's _muggle_, as I'm sure you know, seeing as you've lived with us for a little over six years now." Harry's smile grew when he saw the woman's face scowling in annoyance. "Look, Olivia, I need you to trust me. Just focus on your job on getting Bill's team out of there. We'll cover your back. I picked Clarke because I knew he'd be the best at fighting, just like I knew your training with M16 will make _you _the best at evading."

Olivia's naturally thin lips became thinner as she gazed steadily at Harry. "Very well. I will do my best to get everyone out alive. I just hope nothing happens that will make you regret bringing Clarke."

"What would make me regret bringing him? The more Death Eaters he kills, the better it is for me."

The ex-M16 agent said nothing, but still made her displeasure clear by narrowing her eyes at Clarke's unsuspecting back. Realizing that Olivia had no more to say, Harry slowed down his pace a bit to allow her to walk ahead of him. He didn't share her worries about Clarke's bloodthirsty attitude toward Voldemort and his army. The man, after all, had good reason to wish every Death Eater a gruesome death.

Harry absently tapped his wand against the side of his thigh as he looked around his surroundings. Currently, his team of five members was traipsing through the long stretch of wasteland that signaled the beginning of Voldemort's place of residence. They had painstakingly snuck through the eerily beautiful Tier 1 as well as the almost normal environment of Tier 2. The cheerful people, relaxed environment, and crowded shopping districts in the latter tier caused pangs of longing within the weary squad, and it took all of Harry to convince them not to linger much more than they already did.

Traveling through the hellish Tier 3 was definitely a nightmare as they tirelessly dodged vagrants who mercilessly and desperately attempted to mug them. Some more reckless ones, aware of their status as rebels, attempted unsuccessfully to capture them for the Dark Lord's approval and reward. It was with considerable relief when the team entered the destruction surrounding the Arx. Scavengers scurried from wreckage to wreckage, but thankfully, they were smart enough to leave Harry and his companions alone.

Seeing that there was nothing of interest among the wreckage, Harry gazed at each of his team members instead. There was Clark a good ten meters ahead of the rest of the team, visibly tense and eager for a fight. Olivia walked with considerable more grace despite her older years. If it weren't for her gray hair which she wore in a short, severe haircut, many would mistake her for being much younger. The last two members were Harry's old childhood friends, Seamus and Dean, each currently scouting their left and right positions in case of ambush.

Despite the fact that they were here to save a team which consisted of two members who were very dear to his heart and that there was a very real chance that they may all perish at the gala, Harry was quite content. He was confident in his and his teammates' abilities. Over the years, strengthened by endless missions, raids, attacks, and rescues, Harry developed into quite the leader. Both magical beings and muggles respected him, and Voldemort's followers soon grew to fear him almost, but not quite, as much as the Dark Lord. Yet Harry did not revel in the fear he inspired as Voldemort did. He did not use it to bully them into submission and he did not confirm their fears by torturing them into insanity. Death Eaters died quickly at Harry's hands but not cruelly. This was a war, after all.

In the corner of his vision, Harry noticed Dean jogging toward him, his face grim. He waited until his friend came upon him. "What is it, Dean?"

"Harry. We're closer to the Arx than we'd thought. There's an illusion put up, to hide the Arx from people who weren't invited to the gala. I walked straight into it," Dean gestured to where he had come. "Over that way."

Harry nodded, giving the wizard a grateful smile. "Thanks, Dean. Seamus! Go and dismantle the illusion barrier. Dean found the Arx." From the corner of his eyes, he saw Olivia calling for Clarke to come back and regroup. When they all came upon each other near the slightly shimmering barrier, Seamus immediately went to work. Harry had already cast his strongest disillusionment charms on each member, and he waited impatiently for Seamus to finish.

"Alright, guys," he whispered, as he noticed a tiny hole appearing in the barrier. "Do not go charging in. I'm talking to you, Clarke. You'll get your chance, I promise. No killing innocents. No kids, no guests. Death Eaters are yours to do whatever you want with them. I'll head straight for the stage for the executioner. Seamus, take down all the barriers you sense inside. Olivia, cover me with your rifle from here. Then, you'll be responsible for guiding Bill's team out. Dean, you'll help Clarke with the Death Eaters."

His team nodded their heads, each with a different expression on their faces. Though Harry could not see them, he knew what each would look like at that moment. Dean was solemn, almost sad. Seamus was determined. Olivia was grim. Clarke was ecstatic. "I know my orders are a little vague, but I trust all of you. I trust your decisions. You don't need me babying you. You don't need me telling you that I need you to protect _yourselves_ most of all. I need all of you to come home safely after we rescue Bill's team. Understood?"

Heads nodded again.

"Alright," Harry whispered again. The hole had gotten bigger, allowing the team to finally see the black thorn building about a mile away. A large festive crowd had gathered at the entrance, where a stage was set. Harry couldn't see his aurors yet, but could barely make out the executioner with his big scythe cavorting around the stage.

"Let's go."

O_O

Draco suppressed another groan when a heavy booted foot once again flew into his side. And only an instant later, another boot – pointed boots even, the sadistic bastard – crashed into the same spot and squashed him against the wall for a good ten seconds. A couple of ribs in his right side were surely broken by now. He opened his eyes and squinted at his attackers through a reddish haze of pain.

So everything hadn't gone…well, exactly to plan. Surely no one could expect there to be a muggle security camera mounted within a painting inside Voldemort's gigantic, hideous lair. And there was no way anyone could think that the wizard hell-bent on blood supremacy would hire muggles with absolutely no magical signature as security guards. Draco was certainly caught off guard when these two muggle goons snuck up behind him and clubbed him on the back of his head with nothing but the swish of clothes to warn him. It wasn't one of his finest moments.

Now, here he was. Chained to the wall like some prisoner in medieval times. His wrists were tied together and strung up high on the stone wall behind him, rendering him unable to protect his poor ribs from the blows they were taking. His body was stretched to its limits and the tips of his boots barely grazed the floor. Draco grimaced. His position right now was pretty embarrassing.

Draco watched with slight trepidation when one of the guards, the one with the big bushy beard, moved closer to him, filling up his nose with the smell of strong liquor. "So how you li' being hung li' some piece o' meat, eh? How you li' it if sommin left you here fo' nine weeks? Nine! Standin' here in your own shite and piss and blood. Watchin' your famly git beat and raped in fron' o' ya? Fuckin' demons, the 'ol lotta ya. Startin' now, I ain't workin fo' you monsters no mo'. Naw, I'll kill every last one of ya and feed yer meat to ma starvin' famly. Naw, they won' starve no mo'. Got yer demon meat fo' 'em. Such a good thin', finding you all alone, little demon. You pay for what ya done to me an' ma famly." The muggle ended his speech with a underhanded left hook up Draco's stomach, leaving him gasping for breath.

The other guard held an arm out to stop his friend from giving Draco another hit. He gave Draco a smile and rummaged around in his pocket for a while until he pulled out a muggle lighter. His friend looked confused, but pulled out a box of cigarettes and made to hand one to the other. The man with the lighter only grinned and shook his head, waving the cigarette away.

Draco watched them with little interest. The aching in his body was quite distracting. As the two guards stood there sharing secret glances, Draco wrecked his brain for a way to climb out of this hole he had dug himself in. Just as he began to despair that he might have inadvertently buried himself in that hole, an idea popped suddenly in his mind. Pushing down the feeling of smug pride, and then feeling proud for accomplishing _that_, Draco decided not to waste anymore time. The dumb shites may actually finish their stupid silent conversation and kill him before he could try anything.

Trying to ignore the sharp flares of pain his body was sending him, telling him to stop fucking moving, Draco shifted a bit away from the wall and concentrated. His captors did not think to remove his belt. In fact, they did not think to remove anything from his body. Not the near dozen potion vials in the little pockets on his belt. Not the small sheath wrapped around his right forearm, containing a poisoned blade and hidden from view by his sleeve. Not even his wand, which poked blatantly through the top of his boots from when he stuck it in there in haste. It was there, snuggled up next to his shin and the idiots did not see it.

However, he could not reach his wand, and spells he could perform wandless were few. But Draco did not despair, for those few spells he could manage without his wand and without speaking the incantations were perfect for his situation.

The man with the lighter and a disturbingly clear look in his eyes pulled his bearded friend away from Draco, only to replace his spot. "Hello, pretty boy. Sorry about my friend here. He likes to drink around this time of the day, as it helps him perform his unpleasant duties later this evening. Although, I must say, the things he does to get his drinks are bad enough." The man glanced behind him slyly and looked back at Draco with a conspiratorial look.

"He's one o' them child snatchers. You heard of them? He steals away the sweet, spoiled pure-blooded kids and he sells 'em. Funny thing is, he don't sell them to the highest bidder. No, of course not. He sells 'em to people with a grudge against your kind. People with hatred and grudges and madness. You have no idea what they did to those children, blondie. The people are stir crazy. Too many people living in squalor and violence. Too much fear and oppression. Too little money and food. No warmth." The man paused slightly, and shrugged. "I apologize for my blabbering, pretty boy, but I hope you understand what I'm getting at. Can you imagine the prize we'll get if we sold _you_? A fully grown wizard from the Dark Lord's lair itself? Oh, many angry people would like a piece of you and we can finally bribe someone to get us out of this hellhole."

"But first," the muggle grinned, and leaned even closer. "first, I would like to play with you myself. Do you know what that Cruciatus Curse feels like, pretty boy? Could you live if you were forced to feel that shit every day? Could you stand it if you watch your family suffer from that shit every day?" The big man practically growled in Draco's face, spittle flying from his mouth. "And to wake up every morning in pain and knowing that you must work for your torturers so your family can survive?"

Draco blinked, glad that none of the spit had landed on his face. During the man's diatribe, Draco had been hard at work. Concentrating on a vial filled with his favorite potion – third pocket from the left, near his spine – he had made all the necessary horrified and indignant expressions to mask his inattention. Silent, wandless magic required all of his focus.

Draco managed to flip open the vial with only a small grimace and forced himself to focus even harder, ignoring the small wave of exhaustion that followed. Lifting his body even further from the wall, he couldn't help but whisper the spell to turn his potions into vapor, making it sound like a drawn out sigh. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck as he trembled in concentration. He had done this spell countless times without his wand, but he was having a little trouble now, considering his situation.

He gave a little sigh in satisfaction as he guided the small bubble of now vaporized potion from out of the vial and into the air. Gritting his teeth, he succeeded in splitting the bubble into two. Allowing his vision to focus on the muggles again, he noticed with slight discomfort that the muggle before him was currently looking at his lighter in contemplation. The other muggle, like Draco, stared at his friend, curious.

Before Draco allowed himself to wonder at their behaviors, he threw the spheres of potion into each of their faces. Carefully looking at their expressions, he was relieved when they showed no signs that they had just inhaled a lethal dose of poison. Suppressing yet another moment of pride – the process took him only half a minute, after all – Draco permitted his body to slump back against the wall, utterly spent. Wandless magic was a bitch.

"The Cruciatus sorta makes you feel like you're burning, doesn't it? Like you're burning on the inside. Feels like a million things are melting inside of you, but there's no blood, no burns, no scars." Without warning, the muggle reached up with the lighter and flicked it on near Draco's hands.

Wincing at the heat brushing his skin, Draco swallowed, his eyes wide as he stared into the cold, blue eyes of his captor. He really wished his poison would kick in right about now.

"I cannot do demon magic like you, but I think this will suffice." He lowered the lighter until the flame caught Draco's left sleeve. Quickly, he pulled off the top of the lighter and flicked the fluid across the rest of Draco's sleeves. The flames licked their way down, eating away the thin cloth of his shirt and getting uncomfortably closer to his hair.

The heat was unbearable, and it took all of his willpower not to scream out. Quelling the barrage of curses in his mind that he wanted to throw on the muggles, he opted instead on trying for another wandless spell.

The fire was flickering around his elbows as he screamed the incantation in his head. '_Aguamenti. Aguamenti!' _When the fire continued to lick cheerily against his skin, Draco couldn't help but feel a tiny ball of panic rapidly growing in the pit of his stomach. '_Fucking Aguamenti! Shite. Fucking Merlin. Calor Extinctum! Aguamenti! Calor Extinctum!'_

When the heat abruptly ceased, Draco jerked his head up to look, more than a little surprised that his panicked spell-work was successful. Indeed, the flames were gone, leaving behind raw, pink skin and tattered sleeves past his elbows. Draco noticed with pleasure that his knife had survived the fire.

Satisfied that he turned out to be okay, he shifted his attention to the men in front of him. Immediately, he saw a body slumped on the floor, mouth agape and filled with blood. Suppressing the sudden urge to laugh delightedly, he turned his head to look at the drunken muggle, who stood a few steps away, staring uncomprehendingly at his friend.

Draco watched as expressions of disgust, horror, and fear played across the bearded face and waited for the inevitable realization. When it came, anger filled the man's face and he snarled at Draco. He literally snarled. A growly rumble exploded from deep in his throat and out the mouth, accompanied with plenty of saliva. Like a dog.

"Demon! Ya killed him!"

Before Draco could give in and laugh in his face, the man pulled out a small handgun and pointed it at him with shaking hands. Draco went from feeling gleeful to terrified so quickly that it left him slightly dizzy. "You've got to be kidding me."

Just as the muggle started to retch up blood, a loud bang filled the room and simultaneously, Draco's right shoulder exploded in pain. This time, he did cry out.

The agony of the wound was made worse by his unfortunate position, and Draco could barely think because of it. He couldn't even watch his poison kill the bloody muggle, for fuck's sake. He couldn't watch the man suffer as he had suffered, and he was pissed. '_Fuck_.' The word repeated itself over and over in his mind as he contorted his body so that he could somehow reach his wand.

Cursing his long legs, Draco gave up with a huff, and looked up at the thick chain of steel encircling his wrists. Noticing the red and bruised skin, Draco sighed. It would be hard to explain that to Blaise. Not to mention this bullet wound that he hoped wasn't too serious.

Trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder and ribs, Draco placed both feet on the wall behind him, attempting to climb up the wall. Despite the awkward as hell position, he managed to go up, little by little. He had to pull viciously down on the chains to give himself leverage, and that did nothing but make his shoulder flare excruciatingly.

Just when dark dots began to appear in his vision, he managed to climb enough so that his arms were bent before him, and his mouth was level with the sheath secured around his forearm. Leaning his head forward, he bit down in the small handle of the knife and pulled it out. With the knife secured in his mouth, he silently apologized to his body and forced himself to climb up a few more steps until he was as level with his hands as he could be.

With difficulty, he passed the knife from his mouth to his left hand, taking care not to cut his fingers with the sharp edges. The poison he had used to fill the hollow blade was a particularly vicious one. Not only would it eat away skin easier than burning parchment, but it would also hurt. A lot.

Twisting his wrist at an awkward angle, he leveled the blade until it touched the steel chaining him to the wall and poked it. The tip of the knife retracted, allowing for a small drop of poison to leak out and onto the chain. A hissing sound and smoke were almost immediate, and Draco quickly pulled down on the chain, dropping the knife in the process.

When the chain succumbed to the poison and dropped him, Draco was so relieved that he felt tears in his eyes. But damn, he felt awful. Wincing, he sat on the floor, retrieved the knife and let a drop of acid fall on the small loop of chain holding his wrists together.

Once he was completely free, he re-sheathed his knife and looked at the two bodies before him. They had collapsed in similar positions on the ground, with blood pooling out of their mouths and around their heads. Ignoring the sense of satisfaction growing inside him, he took out his wand as well as two empty vials. He never had the memories of muggles before. It would be interesting.

O_O

Draco came out into the sunlight, exhausted and utterly miserable. He was blacking out every few steps and it was only sheer will that allowed him to keep going until he was out of the Arx. His escape route proved no trouble, as he had planned it weeks before. It was a small blessing, but did not quite lift his mood.

Stumbling among the wreckage, he strolled far enough away from the Arx so that he could feel comfortable taking a small break. He plopped down against a rusting compact car with missing wheels and leaned against the hot steel, letting his eyelids drop down.

After giving himself a few seconds of rest, he sighed and searched for the thread in his mind connecting him to one of his oldest friends. '_Greg?'_

When no reply came, Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated. '_Greg, come on. Answer me.'_

It took a full five minutes until he heard a reply, shaky and quiet in his mind. _'Draco? We've been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour! Where have you been?'_

After a moment of hesitation, Draco went ahead and told him the truth. _'I was in the Arx, and I got a bit sidetracked.'_

'_What? Why'd you go in there? Your position was supposed to be behind the group-'_

'_Behind the group of pointy rocks. Yes, I know. I'll be there shortly. What's the situation at your end?'_

'_Wait. Why'd you go in the Arx? Blaise won't be happy…'_

'_Don't tell Blaise.' _Draco interjected quickly._ 'Also, don't tell Millicent or Theo either. Tell me what's happening over there, please.'_

'_Why shouldn't I tell them?'_

A rush of impatience made Draco groan aloud. _'Please, Greg.'_

It was silent for awhile. Draco bit his bottom lip, anxious for the answer. The big guy was probably stunned into silence when Draco said 'please.' Two times in a row, even.

'_Okay, Draco. I won't tell them. We're still waiting for you though. Behind the pointy rocks. What should I tell them?'_

'_Can you tell them I'm chasing Macnair? The gala's over, right?'_

'_No, Draco. I can't tell them that. Macnair's dead.'_

'_Oh. You killed him without me?'_

'_No,' _Greg repeated. _'Potter killed him. He rescued his aurors. That's why we were trying to contact you. We weren't needed here. We have to go.'_

Potter? Rarely had there ever been a rescue at a gala. Well, there had been _attempted_ rescues. Draco opened his eyes and looked back toward the direction of the Arx. On its other side would be the remnants of the gala. He wondered what sort of chaos existed there right now.

'_Yeah. You guys go on ahead. Tell the others I'm meeting someone. Tell them to fuck off if they keep asking questions. I'll meet up with you later.'_

'_Why not now? We'll wait.'_

'_No…I just catch up later, mate.'_

'_Alright. If you don't come back, we'll storm the Arx to find you.'_

Draco chuckled. _'No need for that. I'll see you later.'_

When he ended the connection, Draco was more exhausted than before. Groaning in self-pity, he wriggled until he found a more comfortable position. In less than a minute, he was blissfully asleep. Or unconscious. Either way, he couldn't sense the figure approaching him only five minutes later, wand drawn and muttering a spell.

"_Rennervate_!"

The spell hit Draco in the middle of his chest, jerking him cruelly awake. He let out a soft cry as he banged his injured shoulder on the car behind him.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Draco's wand flew from his hand and into the hands of his unknown assailant. Cursing his luck and foolishness, Draco glared at the stranger, more pissed than scared. "What was that for?" He had noticed the band around the man's arm, signifying him as one of Potter's aurors.

The man stalked closer, a feral grin on his face. "Why, another Death Eater. Today is just my lucky day, isn't it? Death Eater, Death Eater, where is your mask? And why do you look like something chewed you up and spit you out?"

Draco looked down at his left arm, and sure enough, the fire had eaten away his sleeve, exposing the ugly Mark for all to see. "Er…"

"Twelve. I've killed twelve of you today." Here, the man let out a high-pitched laugh. "You all drop like flies. You all hide behind your master and when he's not here, you all flock about like mindless sheep. Lucky, lucky me that Potter picked me for this mission. Lucky, lucky me that gets to find you. You, who's just waiting all patiently for me. It's like Christmas." The man was getting more and more excited with each word spoken, and Draco was getting more and more uneasy as his craziness seemed to double with each passing second.

"I can do the Unforgivables, you know. Which one would you like? Which one? I can make you crazy like you made my children. I can kill you like you killed my wife. I can force you to gut your own stomach like you forced my mother. Which one? Which one? Which one, Death Eater?" His sing-song voice grated against Draco's ears, and he was stepping ever closer to him.

When he was only a few steps away, with fast, practiced hands, Draco threw his knife straight at the auror, hoping that the man was confident enough not to put a barrier around himself beforehand.

His aim was true, as it always was, and the knife impaled itself into the man's chest. The auror looked down on it, disbelievingly. Dropping Draco's wand, he grabbed the knife and pulled it out, glancing at Draco with surprise. "A knife? You think you can kill me with a kni-"

His words were cut off when he let out a squawk of pain. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air. Draco watched, fascinated, as the man's skin bubbled and burst, dissolving and leaving behind raw meat.

"Clarke!"

Draco whipped his head toward the sound of the shout. He couldn't believe it. Yet another person wanting him dead. Fuck his luck today. He should've stayed home.

He watched warily as the newcomer ran toward him. This time, it was a woman with short gray hair. She held one of those confounded muggle guns, the end of which never wavered from Draco's head.

She came to a stop near the remains of Clarke, looking down at him in disgust. She stared at Draco sternly, as if she were about to scold him for eating dessert before dinner. "You killed him?"

Draco blinked, surprised that there wasn't an extra hole in his head yet. "I had no choice."

The woman stared at him for a while, contemplating his words. She glanced down and looked at the Dark Mark upon his arm. "Death Eater," she said.

"It may seem that way, but no," Draco replied. He didn't know what to make of this woman. Her teammate – she also wore a white band around her arm – had just been killed and she made no move to attack him, although her gun was still pointed at him.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, then roamed her gaze across his body. Her eyes lingered on the splotch of blood at his shoulder and the pinkness of his arms.

After a minute, when it seemed she had reached a decision, she bent and collected the two wands on the ground, as well as the once white band on Clarke's ruined body. It was drenched in blood now, still dripping and almost black.

"Come on. I'm taking you with me."

Draco could only stare at her incredulously.

"Do you need me to carry you?" she asked impatiently. "You need someone to heal your wounds. We have a healer in the team. They're just over that hill over there." The woman's eyes connected with Draco's. Her eyes were stern, but not unkind. "If you don't comply, I will be forced to kill you."

Draco hurriedly got to his feet, successfully ignoring the pain for the time being. "Why are you helping me?" he couldn't help but ask.

The woman chuckled. "Don't be so sure of that. It's not my decision whether or not I should kill you. I'm bringing you to someone who does have that power. I don't blame you for killing Clarke; he was probably asking for it. Also, my conscious won't like it if I killed a kid."

"I'm not a kid," Draco protested.

"I consider everyone that lacks gray hair a kid, kid. Come on. If you try to run away, I will kill you."

Draco thought about it for a second, but made up his mind. He followed her.

As he walked besides her, glancing at her grim face at every few steps, he wondered if he could somehow escape. Judging by her sure grip on the small handgun as well as the comfortable way in which she wore the long rifle on her back, Draco didn't think so. "The person you were talking about, the one with the power…is it Harry Potter?" he asked as they came closer to the incline of the hill.

The woman smiled. "Yes. You heard of him, have you?"

"Well, yes," Draco answered. "We've met before, actually." Paying no heed to the woman's surprised look, he gulped and attempted to straighten himself. His ribs flared in warning, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.

No way was he walking in front of Potter like some defeated weakling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 5**

When he reached the top of the short hill, Draco was ready to collapse again. Not only did it hurt _everywhere_ but he was also sure he looked a damn mess. He was about to meet Harry Potter, the bright hope for both wizard-kind and muggle-kind, and he probably looked worse than some beggar in Tier 3.

A group of people huddled together a short distance away, their features partially revealed thanks to the bright sun beating down mercilessly upon them. As Draco and the strange woman set off across the barren, dirt ground to meet them, the blond could make out a painfully familiar figure standing beside the famous Harry Potter, and despite his promise years ago, his stomach gave a slight lurch.

The muggle beside him grabbed onto his arm, reading his sudden tenseness as a desire to run away. "Harry's a fair man, but you did just kill one of his strongest aurors. Keep your wits about you, and see if you can get yourself out of this mess."

Draco looked at her grumpily, his sudden nerves making him cranky. "Why are you taking me to him, if you didn't want me dead?"

Wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes when the woman smiled. "I would, but these things," she held up the band that she had grabbed from Clarke's messy remains. "record the last few minutes leading to death, as well as a few minutes after. We are obligated to return these bands to Sanctuary, and I will be in the recording. I can't just let you go after you killed one of our own."

Draco pursed his lips, trying to ignore the fact that strangers would get to see him in a weak moment of getting caught off guard while taking a nap in dangerous territory. He managed to control himself before he could snatch the band away and run off in the opposite direction. He knew he wouldn't get very far.

When the pair came within speaking distance with the group, Draco could now see clearly who each and every person was, and to his consternation, most of them were people he did not get along with while in school.

His gaze shifted from the girl Weasley, to a scarred Weasley, to Finnigan, to Creevey, to Patil, and finally to Harry Potter. Each of their faces showed the same expressions of weariness and caution. His eyes deliberately skipped over the last person in the group.

Harry Potter raised his eyebrows upon recognition of the blond. Like the muggle did when she first saw him, he raked his eyes down Draco's body, pausing at each of his wounds. After another second of silence, he finally opened his mouth to speak. "Olivia?" he asked simply.

"He killed Clarke," the woman answered bluntly and promptly handed Potter the two wands and white band she had held in her hand. "I was following your precious auror through my scope, and it looked like he was attacking an unconscious wizard. I went to stop him before he could do any real damage and well, my help was unneeded."

A twitch in Potter's right eye caught Draco's attention, and looking into the green orbs, he felt his stomach plummet. The man looked furious.

"And why, pray tell, is he standing here in front of me, and not dead like the rest of the Death Eaters?" From the corners of his eyes, Draco could see everyone wincing at the cold, ruthless voice coming out of their leader's mouth. He tried not to let his discomfort show, but it was difficult.

Olivia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Calm down, Harry. I didn't kill him because, as you can see, his wounds are caused by mercenaries. You know that I am the only muggle on your side with a gun, so it stands to reason that this boy is Voldemort's enemy as well."

The woman gestured toward Draco. "It wasn't his fault that Clarke got even more bloodthirsty than usual to attack someone while they're vulnerable."

Potter glared at her for a few seconds, as if to make sure she could see his displeasure. When he shifted his gaze to Draco, the blond couldn't help but gulp, quickly hiding the action by offering the other wizard his sweetest smile. "Nice to see you again, Potter," he said as pleasantly as he could, despite the fact that he was one big bundle of nerves. Potter was a Gryffindor, and surely Gryffindors would be more accepting – and hopefully, lenient – if he acted like a decent bloke. Or was he mistaking the house with Hufflepuff? Shit.

Potter blinked. A hand went up to rub at the back of his head, and in that gesture, Draco could finally see the resemblance to that scrawny, bespectacled boy he had been in Hogwarts. For some reason, that reassured him, and he relaxed slightly.

"You're…_not_ a Death Eater?" Potter asked, looking uncertain.

From the expression on his face, Draco knew Potter was thinking of their sixth year and the abominable mess he'd made of his mission. Thinking about how far he had come, the blond gave a self-deprecating smile. He rubbed gently over the Mark, which showed no signs of damage from the fire. "This thing is impossible to get off; I've tried."

Potter nodded slowly. Looking lost in thought, he glanced at Olivia before turning back to Draco. "Alright, if Olivia didn't deem it necessary to kill you, I won't. But," he glared menacingly at Draco. "You did just kill one of my aurors. We are trying our best to keep some shred of normalcy back home, so you will stand trial just like everyone else who committed a crime."

Just then, another voice joined their conversation. "Is that really necessary, Harry?"

Despite himself, Draco flinched. His voice was exactly the _same_: still light, still gentle, and impossibly unchanging regardless of the terror of war around him.

Potter looked momentarily surprised, staring at the speaker with raised eyebrows. It was clear that everyone else was looking at the speaker as well, but Draco determinedly kept his gaze on the ground in front of him.

"It's self-defense. What could he have done instead? Let Clarke torture him and murder him?"

"We'll determine that when we put him on trial." Potter's voice was definite. There was a moment of silence in which Draco was sure Potter was giving the speaker a curious look. Finally, one shoulder rose in a shrug and Potter turned to the rest of the group.

"Everyone, pitch your tents here. Yes, I know that Arx is just right there, but Voldemort's apparently gone for the moment. Seamus, Parvati, raise a shield and barrier. That was one hell of a battle, and I'm sure you're all exhausted, so we'll start off for the anti-apparition border tomorrow morning. Olivia, you take first watch. Draco," The blond jerked his head up to look back into those green eyes, only to look quickly back down when dark spots suddenly appeared at the corners of his vision. He swayed a little, only regaining his balance when Olivia gripped him tightly on his upper arm.

Unfortunately, her strong hands were not gentle, and the wound in his shoulder flared excruciatingly. Draco gasped and wrenched himself away from her, only succeeding in losing his balance and tipping inevitably over.

Before he crashed to the ground, however, a hand shot out to grab the arm attached to his uninjured shoulder and another arm curled around the side of his waist. It happened too fast, and Draco barely noticed as he waited blindly for the dizziness in his head to subside.

Once stabilized, Draco froze, attempting to understand the fact that currently, not only was Harry fucking Potter practically hugging him, but the man who Draco had forced himself to forget also had his hand wrapped tightly on his arm. Forcing the whirlwind of emotions inside him to calm down, his mind floundered as it tried to think up of something to say to get out of this…slightly awkward situation.

"You know," he started, attempting to keep his tone light despite his heartbeat stuttering faster and faster. "It's not as if I don't appreciate your help, but I think I can stand on my own now."

Quicker than lightning, Potter released him, causing Draco to wince when he jostled his injured ribs. The other man did not follow Potter's example, however, and continued to hold on tightly to his arm. Draco ignored the contact, determined not to let it bother him. He focused his eyes on his childhood enemy instead, taking note of the slight tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks.

"R-right. Sorry," Potter stuttered. Before Draco could comment on Potter's sudden awkwardness, the green eyes shot to the rest of his team and his face swiftly changed back into the calm and collected, if slightly exasperated, expression of a leader. "Why aren't the tents and shields up yet?"

With that one question, the group burst into life; wizards and witches scattered off, Finnigan and Patil running off a little ways in order to erect both a shield and an illusion barrier that was similar to the one Voldemort used to hide his reign from the rest of the world.

The only ones left by Draco were Olivia, the scarred Weasley, Potter, and…

"Dean," Potter's voice was hesitant. "I know you're probably tired from healing Bill's team, but can you take care of Malfoy for now? I can get Ginny to help, but without her wand-"

"It's fine," Dean cut him off. His hand tightened even more around Draco's arm. The sudden extra pain startled him, but he refused to let it show.

Potter's eyebrows rose, but he shrugged. "Alright. Malfoy seems cooperative so far, but even so, search him before you heal him." Sparing Draco one last glance, he then gestured to the scarred Weasley and turned toward a larger tent currently being pitched by an overzealous Creevey. "Bill, it's a bit overdue, but how about giving me your mission report?"

As a he watched Potter walk away – with his wand, unfortunately – Draco found himself a little surprised at how well Potter handled his leadership. He looked comfortable at giving orders, and people rushed to obey him, not because they feared him, but because they felt compelled to. He was the bloody hero, after all. Of course, Draco really shouldn't be surprised, what with that little group Potter had led in fifth year.

The blond was jerked out of his reverie when Olivia shifted near him. The clicking of her guns was still a foreign sound to his ears. "Good job, kid. You survived. Potter usually isn't merciful to Death Eaters, but I'm glad you're an exception." When Draco opened his mouth to reply, the woman cut him off with a hand gesture. "I know, I know. You're not a Death Eater. Now, excuse me while I go climb that sorry excuse of a tree and take my guard duty."

After concealing the handgun in her vest to instead cradle her long rifle in her arms, Olivia started off briskly, leaving Draco finally alone with Dean.

In the moment of silence that followed, Draco felt distinctly uncomfortable. He hadn't seen the man in four years. How should he act? What should he say? Honestly, he didn't want to even look at the man, much less talk to him.

"Draco?" His voice was uncertain. When Draco refused to say anything, the wizard sighed and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, it looks like Colin's finished with the infirmary. Let's go get you fixed up."

Wordlessly, with eyes fixed to the ground, Draco allowed himself to be led to a tent a little distance away from a cluster of smaller tents. Potter's tent dominated the middle of the encampment, complete with its own wooden door and tiny, glass windows.

Draco was tired, and in pain, and tired, and hungry, and not to mention tired, but he refused to succumb to his body's weakness and carried his own weight throughout the trek. Damned if he was going to let the other man carry him like some damsel in distress.

Nevertheless, he was relieved when they pushed aside the flaps to enter a cool, spacious room. One wall held nothing but shelves and shelves of jars, vials, towels, and other supplies. In the corner was a thin door leading to what was probably the washroom. There were four beds in total, all of which looked identical to the ones in Hogwart's infirmary. Gloomily, Draco recalled those beds as not being particularly comfortable. But then again, he'd slept on worse.

Dean finally released him, placing a hand in the small of his back and giving him a gentle push. "Go on, then. Pick a bed."

Biting back a sharp remark about his touching him, Draco made his way to the bed closest to the entrance. He tried not to let his relief show when he collapsed on the white sheets, allowing his muscles to relax and alleviating much of the pressure that his abused ribs had suffered. The bed – more of a cot, really – was firm under him. Draco felt as if he laid on a piece of wood, but in his condition, it was practically heaven.

Dean was currently shuffling around the shelves, pulling different colored pastes and liquids from different cupboards and measuring amounts into a small bowl. The faint smell of mint filled the air, refreshing in Voldemort's dusty wasteland.

After he convinced himself that the Gryffindor would be too busy to notice, Draco turned his head a bit from his pillow to peek at the other wizard. From where he was watching, Dean Thomas had not changed much. Granted, his hair went from a poufy mini-afro to closely shaven, but everything else was the same. His straight posture, his dark, smooth skin, his quick hands, his—

Draco quickly shifted his eyes away when Dean turned back toward him, holding a bowl filled to the brim with a light green paste.

After he set the bowl on the nightstand, Dean made himself comfortable on the side of the bed, seemingly ignoring the faint look of irritation that passed through Draco's face.

Although he kept his eyes on his hands resting on his stomach, he could feel the other man's gaze on him. It was unnerving, yet Draco still couldn't find the courage to meet the dark eyes. He was afraid, honestly. He was afraid of how he'll react. It had been so long since they had seen each other, and Draco had so successfully blocked any thoughts of Dean from his mind that it left him rather at a lost now that he was facing the wizard once again.

It was annoying, sure. This irrational fear. He had no qualms about infiltrating his targets' homes and making it pass their pet dementors. He didn't bat an eye when it came to murdering those targets. There was no hesitation when he risked his sanity to view his victims' memories in his head. But to look into Dean's eyes…Draco was afraid.

"Draco." His voice was gentle. Always so gentle when he spoke to him. "It's been awhile." When Draco continued his stubborn silence, Dean sighed.

Another few minutes of tense silence passed until the Gryffindor suddenly sat up straighter on the bed.

"I'm sorry" he said abruptly. "I know it doesn't cut it, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I've never stopped regretting the choice I made. Even now, I still regret it."

Draco looked up at that, finally meeting the brown eyes that he had convinced himself he'll never see again. When there was no jolt of the stomach or an increase in his heart rate or any of the things he feared he would feel, Draco felt himself loosen up slightly. With renewed confidence, he shrugged. "No, you don't regret it. A choice between family and murderers…it's no choice at all. Leave it, Thomas. It's been four years."

Dean frowned and lifted his hand as if to touch Draco's face. Before Draco could make it known that it would be a _very_ bad idea, he thought better of it and allowed his hand to drop back down on the bed.

"I don't think you're a murderer." When Draco raised an eyebrow at him, Dean smiled sadly. "I tried looking for you, you know. After I found her and took her home, I tried looking for you." His voice sounded so remorseful that Draco couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity. "I knew how stubborn you could be, and I gave up, knowing I will never find you if you didn't want to be found. I'm sorry."

Draco narrowed his eyes, the realization that Dean did not _know_ hitting him quite hard. However, the slump in the once proud and cocky shoulders prevented Draco from telling him exactly where the hell he had been. The guilt could very well kill the Gryffindor. However, his insides had warmed upon hearing that Dean tried looking for him, and Draco felt any reluctance in facing Dean fading away.

"I don't want to hear your apologies," Draco replied. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. It was not hard, as his exhaustion was quite effective in rendering his tone almost monotonous. "You said you took her home," Draco brought up, fighting his heavy eyelids. "Where is she exactly?"

"I brought her with us...to Sanctuary. We had her funeral there. Draco, I'm sorry. It's all my fault she's-"

"Shut up." Draco struggled to lift his arm, which suddenly weighed a ton, to rub his face wearily, trying to keep himself awake.

Losing the fight, his eyelids dropped closed and clouds of unconsciousness steadily overtook his mind. "Hey Dean?" he managed to mumble.

"Yes?"

"You didn't search me like Potter ordered you to."

"No, I didn't." After a pause, Draco felt a hesitant hand on his arm. "I trust you, Draco. That hasn't changed, even after four years."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that, so he chose not to. Instead, he stated the obvious, "You fucking drugged me, didn't you."

Dean chuckled before he replied. "Yes. I know personally how horrible a patient you are. When you wake up, you'll be as good as new, I promise."

"Sneaky prick," Draco muttered, but he didn't feel as annoyed as he thought he should be. "You shouldn't, you know."

"Hmm?" Dean's voice sounded incredibly close right now. The smell of mint became stronger, and Draco vaguely felt a cool substance being rubbed onto his arms.

"Trust me. You shouldn't trust me," Draco managed before he succumbed and fell into a deep sleep.

O_O

**AN:** I know it seems like Draco/Dean but please be patient! Their history is really important to the rest of the story, so bear with me if their (past) relationship annoys you. I'm so excited; I've got a solid outline for the rest of the story in my head. All I gotta do now is write it all down! Easier said than done…I have so much homework this month. Damn.

Hope you'll stay tuned and review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 6**

_Four Years Ago_

"_Draco! Draco, are you alright?"_

_Her voice was shrill, not at all like her usual calm, dulcet tones. She grabbed his shoulders urgently, her eyes roaming across his body, searching for other signs of injury._

_Draco impatiently pushed her off. "No time, we have to keep moving." He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward another turn on the street, doing his best to navigate among the scattered bodies upon the ground. London was gone; in its place was a warzone, a mass graveyard._

_Draco risked a glance back, locking eyes with the girl running behind him. Her brown eyes were wild with fright, her breaths coming out in short and uneven gasps. He tried to convey to her that everything will be okay, that they'll both get out alive, and perhaps she noticed, because suddenly, her face screwed into a mixture between determination and anger._

"_Someone's betrayed us, Draco. No one was supposed to know our location! All my girls are dead, Vince is dead, and everyone's just fucking dead, because someone gave us away!"_

_Draco looked away, the pain of his loss making him stagger a few steps. "Pansy, please save it until later."_

_Pansy yanked on his arm roughly to break his hold. She ran beside him now, glaring at him. "Dean's the only one who knew where we were." Her voice was bitter and accusing._

_Draco scowled. "Damn it, Pansy! This isn't the time!" He gestured vaguely in front of him. "We need to make it past the anti-apparition barrier, and then you can accuse him all you want, alright? But please –"_

_His words were cut off as several bright lights flew toward them from behind, and his instincts saved them both as he yanked the girl to the ground and threw up a shield. The spell, being wandless, shattered after the impact of the enemies' curses instead of standing strong, leaving them vulnerable to the group of Death Eaters that had finally caught up with them._

"_Oh shit," he heard Pansy mutter. She gripped his arm hard. "Draco, run. I'll distract them. You need to get out of here."_

"_Are you out of your fucking mind? Shut up, and just keep going." Without a glance at the incoming Death Eaters, he yanked her back up off the ground and continued running._

_Pansy kept up, although she tried to twist out of Draco's grasp. "I can cover you, give you enough time to make it the rest of the way. There's no point in both of us dying!"_

_Draco gritted his teeth and doggedly continued toward the border. Not that far left…_

_Without warming, a heavy weight crashed down upon them, forcing them both to the ground. Draco looked around him and saw that not only were there Death Eaters coming from behind, but more emerged from the buildings around them. They were waiting for him._

_Barely a second passed before they were put in a strict body bind, and Draco could feel the fight going out of him. He stared at Pansy, and could see nothing but despair in her eyes._

_He struggled to find her thread among the others nestled in his mind. Despite the panic growing inside him, he managed to keep calm enough to send her a message._

"Pansy, it'll be alright. Trust me, I'll get us out of here."

_His oldest friend stared back at him, her gaze never wavering even as the Death Eaters came within a few feet of them. _

"_The Dark Lord only wanted the Malfoy kid. Kill the spare."_

_Pansy gave no sign that she heard the horrible voice. She stared determinedly back at Draco, as if committing his face to memory. _"You know I trust only you, right?"

_Draco held her gaze; he couldn't look away. _"I'm sorry."

_And he continued to look at her, even as tears filled her eyes and his heart clenched at the sight of them. His attention was undivided, and he wished so badly to be able to reach out and wipe them away because he had promised her. He'd promised her that he wouldn't ever make her cry again._

_He still stared at her even when her thread disappeared, nothing more than a simple snap inside his mind. Even as her eyes grew dull, and he felt the tip of a wand dig against his neck, he refused to look away._

_They said he was there to witness her first day of life. He'd kept a close eye on her during childhood, Hogwarts, and especially during their fierce fight for survival in the years after Dumbledore's death, so it was only fitting he watched her to her last breath._

O_O

It was well past midnight when Harry finally wrapped up his debriefing with Bill, and with the aftereffects of battle and stress wearing him down, Harry struggled to keep his eyes open. After giving Bill a small smile before the long-haired man left his tent, he slouched further down his seat and closed his eyes.

So the mission was a success. Bill's team was safe, and they came out with minimal injuries. Bill's assurances that they were not tortured during their imprisonment surprised Harry, but he was grateful. Harry himself emerged from the battle unscathed, as well as most of his team. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Harry thought of Clarke, and how the man will now never be able to see Neville's efforts with his children bear fruit.

Harry thought about the two teenagers, and wondered if they would understand their father was never coming home, if they would feel sorrow or pain. He wondered if they had even noticed their father's absence from his usual place by their bedsides.

With a great sigh, Harry opened his eyes and glared at the blank canvas wall across from him. Fuck. This was supposed to be a perfect mission. He hadn't lost a team member in five years and he had prided himself in this. It had proven his competence as the leader; it had reassured him that he was right for the job, that he deserved the people's trust.

Fucking Malfoy. How dare the git bring back the guilt and doubt that he had so successfully squandered long ago?

What if another member died on the way back? What if someone blew their covers and get all of them killed? What if the next call Harry made resulted in the death of someone he cared about? What if Voldemort _won_?

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose harshly and forced himself to stop thinking before he gave himself a panic attack. Rubbing his face wearily, he instead pictured the Weasleys' upcoming family reunion with Ginny and Bill. He thought of Colin Creevey entering the arms of his parents and basking in the glow of his younger brother's admiration. Parvati running into her twin's embrace, jumping and squealing all the while. Families made whole again.

Harry smiled as a sense of calm washed itself down his body. He'll get them home. He'd done it many times before. They were right to put their trust on him, and he would not disappoint them.

His smile faded when, unbidden, the blond Slytherin popped into his head again. Harry shook his head slightly. Slytherin. He hadn't thought of Hogwarts in years, and yet one glimpse of Malfoy brought the term to mind immediately.

His eyes traveled to the small table in front of him, where a hawthorn wand rested upon the surface near his own wand of holly. He had to admit that he was curious about him. Where had Malfoy been all these years? What had he been up to? The last Harry had seen of him was when Snape had swept him away after murdering Dumbledore.

Harry frowned. The memory of that night was unpleasant, although no longer painful. Still, it was not something he wanted to think about.

A footstep outside the entrance to his tent made him sit up straighter. Harry was glad for the distraction and waited with eyes trained to the wooden door, which he always believed to be ostentatious and quite ridiculous on a tent.

When Dean walked in, not even bothering to knock, Harry raised his eyebrows. So this was not a social visit, then.

"Harry, you have to let Draco go." Dean said without preamble, sitting himself down on the chair previously occupied by Bill. He held Harry's gaze for a few silent seconds, then the brown eyes dropped to his hands, which clenched tightly together. "About your normalcy…the law, can't it wait until Voldemort's been defeated? According to Olivia, Draco did nothing wr—"

"What's the story between the two of you?" Harry interrupted. He tried to appear only mildly interested – an expression Dumbledore once wore on his own face, perhaps – although a burning curiosity grew ever greater inside him.

Dean blinked at his interruption. He shrugged. "We became close about six years ago."

Harry waited, but it seemed Dean wasn't about to offer more. "Six years ago," Harry began, looking at the other man thoughtfully. "You were not with us yet, were you?"

"No."

If Harry was taken aback by Dean's short tone, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded once and gestured toward a small gilt box sitting on the table between them. "Clarke's wand and last few minutes of death are in there. These are the only things I can bring home to his family. Why should I let Malfoy go free when Clarke's children are trapped in their own kind of hell?"

Dean stared stonily at him, his eyes stubbornly avoiding the box. "Draco did not torture his children into insanity. Bellatrix did."

"He took their father away from them," Harry bit back, unable to keep anger from leaking out into his voice. "That may have set them back who fucking knows how far. Neville's been trying his best, and Merlin knows he's good at what he does, but the only time those two kids respond at _all_ was when their father stayed by their sides. What the hell will they do now, Dean? How will Neville cure them if the damn git took away their only hope?" Harry rubbed viciously at his face and collapsed against the back of the chair. "Fucking hell, mate…I'm tired of seeing orphans everywhere I look."

Dean stayed silent for a while, looking at Harry with now kind eyes. He waited until the green eyes were locked back into his own before smiling gently. "Alright. I concede," he said with a small incline of his head. His smile quirked into a playful one. "Besides, I can't say I object to seeing him for a little while longer."

Harry, amused, watched as Dean stood up and after a cheery good night, exited through the door as quickly as he had barged in. Shaking his head slightly, Harry forced his tired limbs to move and made his way slowly to the feather-filled bed tucked into the corner of the tent. Once again, the grandiose furniture made Harry roll his eyes, but just as his back touched the mattress, he couldn't help but offer a silent word of thanks to Colin. He'd never felt more comfortable in his life.

Stretching luxuriously among the airy comforter, Harry forced all thoughts about Clarke and his children from his mind. He let his eyelids fall shut, buried his face into his pillow, and let his mind relax into the bliss of oblivion. The last coherent thought he had before consciousness slipped away was the unpleasant knowledge that in only a few hours, he would be forced to wake up and take his guard duty.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**Chapter 7**

It wasn't without a little reluctance when Draco opened his eyes, the image of Pansy's face quickly fading from his mind. He continued to lie still for a few moments, staring at the blank canvas ceiling of the infirmary tent, thinking.

He hadn't thought of Pansy in years. His short imprisonment under the Death Eaters' less than tender care did not give him any opportunities to mourn her, and the years after his leave from the Arx had kept him too busy to spare his old friend anything more than a few days of moping. Draco sighed quietly, closing his eyes again in an almost desperate attempt to bring back the memory of her. He missed her.

"Draco? Are you feeling any pain?"

The voice involuntarily made Draco squeeze his eyes shut harder, such a burning anger erupting suddenly within him that it caught him off guard. He sighed again, willing his emotions back under firm control, and opened his eyes. He shouldn't feel that way, he tried to tell himself. Dean hadn't had any choice; he did nothing wrong.

"Not much," Draco answered. The blond used his arms to carefully lever himself up to a sitting position, smiling slightly at the Healer sitting on the edge of the nearby cot. "You've improved much since I last saw you."

Dean gazed at him critically for a few seconds and seemed to come to a decision, because he smiled kindly and shrugged off the compliment. "I've had plenty of practice," he replied flippantly. Then, he swallowed and took a deep breath, causing Draco to raise an eyebrow. "Draco, I know I owe you an explanation…about four years ago. About how the Death Eaters found you."

In an instant, the anger returned quickly within him, and Draco narrowed his eyes at Dean's earnest expression. The anger burned his insides, instantaneously sharpening his senses and chasing away the last vestiges of weariness that weighed on his body like a second skin. Draco worked extremely well with anger – it had fueled his determination in the last few years, after all – but he knew Dean didn't deserve it, despite the heavy cost of the choice he made four years ago. He knew this, and he will repeat it over and over until his body understood.

After Draco successfully stifled the anger once again, he looked away to the entrance of the tent, noting the predawn light showing through the cracks. "I've heard enough," Draco finally replied, forcing a neutral tone. "Your family was threatened. Like I said, a choice between your family and me is no choice at all."

Dean shook his head violently, his hands forming into tight fists. "No. It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make, even to this day." He smiled bitterly. "And I'm no longer sure whether I made the right choice." When Draco gazed at him in question, Dean shrugged resignedly. "It wasn't just you I was giving up. It was all of Tier 3…all of London. Thanks to you, Tier 3 became a _home_, rather than a prison. The streets were safer, and people were getting fed, and…and everyone worked together instead of killing each other. I don't know if you've been back recently," Dean paused and swallowed. He looked down and scowled at his fists. "But ever since I betrayed you, our district has reverted back to the hell it was when Voldemort first defeated the Ministry."

Draco snorted, causing Dean to look up at him sharply. "It figures that muggles would ruin all my work." When Dean gave him a disbelieving look, Draco shrugged. "You're painting quite a pretty picture of me. Don't you remember the reasons _why_ I wanted London?"

"It doesn't matter what your reasons were. It mattered that you saved the city." Dean's eyes flashed fiercely, the words coming out harsh in vehemence. "London was abandoned by Voldemort when he grew bored with us, and even the Ministry saw fit to leave London for dead. You were the only one who bothered to salvage what was left, and you saved thousands of muggles and muggleborns because of that. You may believe you did it because you enjoyed the power, but it doesn't change the fact that you saved a lot of lives." Dean slouched and suddenly, he appeared to be much older than his twenty-seven years. "And I've destroyed everything that you've worked so hard for."

"Oh, shut up," Draco said, grimacing as he swung his legs off the side of the bed so that they sat face-to-face. The tight brace wrapped around his middle and bandages around his shoulder limited his movements, but most of the pain he had felt yesterday was gone, and he was grateful for that. "Did you forget that Death Eaters were the ones who destroyed the city? And bitter, angry victims were responsible for making Tier 3 such a shithole place to live? If you want to blame someone, blame them."

When Dean showed no signs that he was listening, Draco reached across the small space between them and laid a hand on the other's shoulder. Waiting until the dark brown eyes rose to meet his own, Draco offered an uncharacteristically gentle smile, and said, "I've forgiven you, and that unnecessary guilt you're still bearing will only annoy me."

Dean leaned into his touch, a mournful expression stealing over his face. "Who did we lose? It's been four years, but I only know of Pansy…" his voice drifted off, and his eyes were full of pain.

"Greg is safe, as well as Blaise, Theodore, and Millicent," With a small jolt of guilt, Draco realized he should probably try and contact them and inform them of his whereabouts. He stifled the feeling, however, reasoning that they were probably much too far away for him to get a hold of them mentally. "Everyone else…dead, I think. There may be scattered survivors, but I haven't found anyone so far. Then again, I haven't been back there since Pansy died." Draco returned his hand to his lap, fingers playing with the bandages wrapped around his burns. "I also heard about your mother." He noticed Dean stiffen in his peripheral vision. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Dean was frowning now. "She died trying to protect my sisters…she was much more honorable than me." He blinked furiously as if to keep tears from falling. He sounded bitter. "When they killed her and turned their wands to Clara, I fucking broke down in front of them, Draco. Fighting didn't even occur to me. I didn't get out my wand, or even tried to negotiate with the bastards. I just fucking told them your location. I didn't even try to lie."

"As you should," Draco said quietly. "They would've killed you and your family otherwise."

Dean stared, his throat convulsing erratically as he swallowed. After a few moments of silence, he chuckled disbelievingly. "God, Draco. You're too good to me. I don't deserve it." Before Draco could react to those words, he stood up, letting out an explosive sigh. "Thank you. Thank you for speaking with me, and your forgiveness…I don't deserve it, but thank you, Draco. You have no idea how glad I was when I saw you coming with Olivia. We've infiltrated the Arx a few times, but I've never seen you, so I assumed you were in hiding these past four years."

Draco heard the unspoken question in his last sentence, and debated with himself on whether he should tell him exactly how he had spent the last few years. Dean was clearly well embedded within Potter's organization, and Draco wasn't sure if he wanted the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry of Magic to hear of his activities. At least, not yet.

However, looking at Dean's expectant face reminded him nostalgically of their adventures in Tier 3. Together, with assistance and supplies from his contacts on the continent, they had slowly rebuilt a civilized district, and although it was far from perfect, it was miles better than the chaos that Voldemort had left in the wake of his destruction. His Slytherins had acted as a merciless police force, beating down power hungry opponents that threatened to upset Draco's efforts of creating his envisioned city. Dean and a few other muggleborns had been invaluable at garnering the muggles' trust of Draco and his friends. In the end, people had recognized his role as leader, and well, Draco must admit that the power was intoxicating. Addicting. Stimulating. Who could blame him when he had wanted more?

He'd always wondered where they would be right now if he had curbed his greed and stayed away from the territories belonging to other leaders. If he had stayed with Dean that day, could they have beaten off the Death Eaters together? Perhaps Death Eaters wouldn't even be targeting Tier 3 if his actions hadn't returned the city to Voldemort's attention. If so, would Pansy, Vincent, Daphne, and the rest…would they all still be alive?

Draco gripped his hands together harshly, and the still tender skin burned sharply in retaliation. Brooding about the past and wondering on what-ifs were useless. His gaze searched Dean's familiar face, a face that only yesterday, he had thought he would no longer be able to stand the sight of, and came to a decision. Despite the lingering anger he still felt toward this wizard, his fondness of him overshadowed it. There was no harm in telling Dean about his activities during their separation. Well, not _all_ of his activities. He still wanted his secrets.

"I found the remainder of my team a couple years ago, with Theo acting as the temporary leader. With their help, I've been doing the same thing I was doing when I first met you." Draco smiled grimly.

Dean nodded. "Assassinations," he said, not making it into a question.

Draco nodded back, flicking imaginary dust off the sleeve of the shirt that someone had lent him. Probably Dean's. He noted that his belt of poisons was absent from his waist, making him frown slightly, but he didn't bother to comment on it. "Except the targets had changed. We weren't interested in stealing territories anymore. We were hunting Death Eaters."

Dean's eyes flashed in a moment of understanding. "Those Death Eaters that we found dead, that was your work?"

"Most likely," Draco smirked. "All of those Death Eaters responsible for the majority of my team's deaths are all dead now. Macnair was the last one, thanks to Potter."

This knowledge made Dean blink, and from the expression on his face, he didn't know quite how to react. "You were after revenge all this time?" he finally asked. He didn't look too pleased, and Draco felt a small spark of annoyance.

"Knowing me, are you surprised?" Draco threw back at him. "The one who murdered your mother, I killed him too. You should be thanking me." He had watched the drama of her death unfold not too long ago in his own head, with the help of the tiny wisp of memory that was now stored somewhere in the Forbidden Forest among many others. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Dean about that.

Dean nodded, although his face remained emotionless. "And now what? Now that you've gotten your revenge, what will you do?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It seems to me that I'm stuck with you for the time being."

His comment jerked Dean into surprise, and then a wide smile stole across his face. "Yes. I shouldn't be complaining. I'm truly happy to see you again."

Draco answered with a smile, but before he could say anything, a head poked through the entrance flap. "Dean, we're leaving in half an hour, but best if you finished up here in ten minutes so I can wrap up this tent. Breakfast's served outside, if you're hungry."

"Sure, Colin," Dean said, and the head poked back out, not bothering to give even one glance at Draco. The blond curled his lips slightly in distaste.

"Does Potter make it a habit to stick only Gryffindors into squads?" he asked bitterly.

Dean chuckled. "Of course not. You're just unlucky."

Draco sighed. "Yesterday was full of bad luck for me," he agreed. He quirked a smile, and stood up off the bed, coming up to the same height as Dean. "Although, I guess I don't mind it now that I've found you again."

The pleasant surprise on Dean's face not only made Draco laugh, but it also made the upcoming breakfast with a group of Gryffindors seem less daunting.

But not by much.

O_O

He had felt them staring. From their first steps into this particular district of Tier 3, Harry felt the sidelong glances and even outright gawking. Heads had turned to follow their progress down the cluttered, meandering street. Men and women weakened from hunger or fatigue somehow found the energy to hold their gazes on them, and the growing tension made Harry's muscles tighter and tighter as he readied himself for the unknown.

Now, there were whispers. Low murmurs among the small groups lounging solemnly against cracked building walls and streetlights. A flurry of activity to his right caused his hand to twitch and tighten around his wand hidden up his sleeve. When nothing happened, he forced himself to loosen his grip, repeatedly reminding himself that even one measly spell may bring forth dozens of Death Eaters within a second of his casting. Sensing that more and more people were turning toward him, his arms crossed tighter around himself, the hand hidden within his sleeve veiled from outsiders. If only he could cast a couple disillusionment charms and escape those empty eyes.

Death Eaters were such a nuisance.

Harry gritted his teeth, wondering at the cause of attention. His journey through this exact street before had brought about some interest, but not to this scale. He wore no distinguishable uniform. He had not cast any spells that triggered the sensors. To the untrained eye, he was completely normal. Just another poor soul trapped in this modern hell.

His eyes glanced surreptitiously to his left, where a sullen Malfoy was following closely at his side. Despite the seriousness of the injuries he had gotten the day before, the blond walked with a lazy grace that belied the existence of his wounds. His shoulders were slouched, his hands were stuffed into pockets, and long platinum wisps partially hid his eyes. Though Harry knew he was looking at a man dangerous enough to have killed Clarke and gotten away alive, Malfoy appeared to him like a sulking teenager. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. Trust this git to refuse to grow up.

Harry's eyes continued to sweep all around them, though he was careful to avoid connecting gazes with any of those still staring. He recalled this morning's breakfast, when Malfoy had surprised everyone with his guarded politeness. He hadn't even reacted when Seamus threw him some harsh words over Clarke's murder. It was when he had brought up their plans to cut through Tier 3 that Malfoy displayed signs of concern.

"Why can't we go around it?" he had asked, making the group stare at him in amazement.

Harry had raised an eyebrow and explained that he would rather walk through a city of muggles than continue to traipse through a terrain inhabited freely and copiously by Voldemort's dark creatures, the sole purpose of which was to destroy anyone who dared to escape the city. It was common knowledge, and nobody was fool enough to take those chances.

Malfoy had frowned, and had promptly told Harry that he would risk it and would meet back up with him at the edges of Voldemort's anti-apparition barrier.

Harry almost chuckled at the memory, but the weight of the stares prevented even a twitch of his lips. If he were to be totally honest with himself, he wasn't exactly sure why he wanted Malfoy to stick with them. Was it really so important to have the Wizengamot judge him? Their cells were filled with prisoners of war, but does Malfoy constitute as one of them? He claimed he was no longer a Death Eater, but really, how could Harry believe him?

In the end, Harry had only shook his head and continued with his plan. One of the main duties of aurors was to bring in enemy soldiers, and Harry had been quite lacking in that regard. Death Eaters who had the luck of facing Harry usually ended up too dead to make the journey back to Sanctuary. Furthermore, Malfoy deserved to see the family Clarke left behind, see the consequences of his actions. He had effectively taken away their only hope of returning to sanity.

And so the group had split up into pairs – those with a wand coupled with those without – and with Olivia under his invisibility cloak to hide her weapons, the group entered Tier 3 with the goal of meeting up at the far end of the city, where a sizable stretch of a magically created forest separated Tier 3 from Tier 2.

"Oy!"

The call jerked Harry out of his thoughts, and after considering for a split second, he turned his head to see an emaciated man wobbling precariously toward them. He paused in his steps and once again, his hand tightened further around his wand.

The man's greasy hair hung over his face, hiding his features, but the lack of any weapons – and even clothing – on his body did not give him an appearance of danger. Harry didn't know why he stopped to wait for the man, especially when it was obvious they had an attentive audience.

"Yes?" he asked when the man came a sufficient distance of them. Subconsciously, he edged in front of Malfoy, covering the wizard from the stranger's line of sight. When he realized what he was doing, he shrugged it off. Malfoy was wandless, after all. He was his prisoner, so Harry had to be responsible for him. He was acutely aware of the stares growing in intensity as the stranger stepped closer.

Once Harry caught sight of the reddened eyes, he realized that the man wasn't interested in him. Dilated pupils wandered past Harry's shoulders, and Harry, following the line of sight, looked at Malfoy suspiciously. The blond hadn't moved from his sulking posture, and when he caught Harry's gaze, he crossed his eyes in response.

"You're back, then?" the stranger asked just as Harry began to narrow his own eyes. "You'll fix this place again?"

Confused, Harry looked back at the man, just in time to notice a red light trailing sporadically over the man's chest. Before he could shout a warning, the thin chest exploded in a mist of red and the body barely made a thud as it fell to the ground.

Harry's first instinct was to pull out his wand and start casting shields, but he suppressed it and grabbed Malfoy's wrist instead. Physically dragging a petulant Malfoy away from the crossfire of an unknown shooter wasn't exactly ideal, but he would rather not bring in Death Eaters and be forced to defend them from two different enemies.

"No use, Potter," Malfoy said – the first words he'd spoken since they entered the city – and pointed toward the rooftops of the buildings lining each side of the street.

Harry looked up and cursed when he counted at least six hunched figures looking over the edges of several buildings, the long barrel of their guns following their erratic journey down the street. He flinched when another shot rang out, and a woman, barely out of her teens, yelled out in pain and collapsed in front of him, a blooming spot of red on her thin blouse.

Harry ground to a halt, with Malfoy close behind, and glared at the woman's shooter atop a gray, derelict building distinguished by green shutters. He had seen the brief flash at the corner of his eyes and for a split second, he had almost wandlessly cast a shield and thereby brought a whole slew of Death Eaters to their position. He glanced down at the dead woman and a tinge of guilt knotted his stomach.

He looked back up when he heard footsteps approaching to see almost a dozen men coming out of the buildings toward them. Some even jumped out of windows a couple stories high. Various pieces of weaponry were held in their hands, and although it provided Harry little comfort, he noticed that only a few of those approaching held handguns. The riflemen on the rooftops didn't move. He flexed his fingers rapidly as the handguns were lifted toward them.

A hiss from Malfoy made Harry glance at him. He quickly looked back at the enemies, but not before taking note of the sudden flash of pure hatred in the gray eyes. His stomach flipped uneasily. "Know these people, Malfoy?"

Malfoy snorted in answer. Harry heard him shift slightly on his feet. "Take your leash off me, Potter."

Harry shook his head. "Can't. A _finite_ will still bring Death Eaters."

"Fuck," Malfoy spat. "My wand?"

"Dean has it," Harry answered. "Besides, you using magic will attract Death Eaters all the same."

"Fuck, Potter. Do you or do you not kill Death Eaters for a living?" Malfoy sounded annoyed, but a tense edge underlined his words, causing alarm bells to start ringing in Harry's head. He hadn't heard Malfoy's voice waver like that in all the six years that he'd known him, except of course, for that moment he faced Dumbledore atop Astronomy Tower.

The group of men had come to surround them, blocking Harry's vision of the audience on the street. Despite the danger, none of them thought it necessary to leave. But then again, this group had no interest in the muggles watching them. Steady hands held their weapons as the men stared at Harry and Draco with unwavering eyes, their bodies angled toward one particular man standing a few steps further away. This man, judging from his stance and clothing, appeared to be their leader. Despite the man carrying no visible weapons in his hands and so shouldn't be as much as a threat, Harry's eyes were drawn to him.

A wiry, brown beard had taken over the man's face, but sharp eyes stood out clearly against the darkened skin. He wore pressed, black trousers, tucked neatly into shined boots, and a long, tan overcoat rested upon his shoulders, partially covering the silk shirt but in no way hiding the gilt holster strapped around his waist. At first glance, the man reeked of power and wealth, and at second glance, the man reeked of danger, a sly and disgusting danger that seemed a world apart from Voldemort himself. He stuck out sorely in this city of poverty, and the ease with which he moved suggested he was no stranger to combat.

The man had waited courteously for Harry to finish his conversation with Malfoy, and when he saw that Harry wasn't going to answer, he took a step forward. "This is really just bizarre," he said by way of greeting. His accent was rough and uncultured, despite the richness of his appearance. "My eyes must be lying, cuz they're tellin' me that I'm lookin' at a dead man."

Malfoy took a step forward, coming shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry. "No need to be so dramatic, Sylvester. We're just passing through."

The man chuckled, but his eyes did not hold mirth. "I'm called Sell, you little shit. And I would very much like to know why the fuck you're back. Last time I checked, the Raven is dead and this district is mine. This _entire_ fucking Tier 3 is _mine_."

Harry couldn't help himself. "The Raven?" he asked, turning toward Malfoy.

Malfoy gave him a sidelong glance, a slight smile on his lips though his eyes were still tense. "My pet bird."

Although the smile surprised him, Harry nodded in understanding. "Ah, a raven."

"Yeah."

"I see you more of a snake person."

"You would."

"Or maybe a hippogriff."

"Fuck you."

"What happened to that eagle of yours? Or was it a falcon?" Malfoy was looking at him as if wondering if Harry had lost his mind. A flicker of movement on a nearby rooftop caught Harry's eye, and he smiled reassuringly back at Malfoy.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you." Sell glared ferociously at Draco and raised his hand, which had removed the shined, antique revolver from its matching holster. "You were never meant to die by my hands, Raven, but I would never throw away fate's gift so readily. This carries six shots…four more than I need to kill both you and your minion."

Harry spluttered. "Minion?" He shifted on his feet, positioning himself slightly in front of Malfoy again. His eyes scanned quickly across the rooftops, and this time, his mouth curled into a grin. "I apologize, but I think you're mistaken; I'm not the minion. The lovely lady standing behind you is the minion." Sell started and whirled around, lifting his gun haphazardly and causing the men on each side of him to flinch. Harry lifted an arm dramatically and pointed a finger in the air. Surprisingly, the men looked up. "Go minion!"

There was moment of stunned confusion before a small tinkle sound made the group look back toward the ground. Harry smacked a hand over Malfoy's eyes, ignoring his indignant squawk and rapidly closed his own. His other hand grabbed Malfoy's shoulder and slammed him to the ground, and before Sell could take aim, Olivia's grenade burst, letting out a flash of light that caused dozens of surprised yells and stray bursts of gunfire to fill the air.

Harry had started moving even before the flash ended, blindingly reaching out and knocking as many men unconscious as he could. Efficient and brutal, his hands struck out into stomachs, necks, chests, and heads, with eyes shut tight all the while. He wrenched weapons away and threw them, absently hoping that he hadn't inadvertently thrown something at Olivia or Malfoy. Some men tried to put up a fight, but Olivia's grenade effectively blinded victims for a good five minutes, which was more than enough time for Harry and Olivia to do quick work among the muggles.

"Harry! It's clear!"

Seamus's voice cut clearly through the moans and curses of Sell's men. Harry opened his eyes and immediately found Malfoy picking himself up off the ground amid the chaos of abandoned weapons and unconscious bodies, his face pale and cross. Fighting a smile, Harry looked up toward the roof of the office building behind him and waved to Seamus, who stood next to a bound and gagged muggle, or more specifically, the murderer of that old man who had first approached them. Bill stood up next to him and gave Harry a quick thumbs up.

Harry hurriedly scanned the rest of the rooftops, a feeling of satisfaction growing inside him as he saw the rest of both his team and Bill's, each of them with a similarly tied up prisoner.

Suddenly, Ginny's voice shouted out. "Get moving! More men incoming from the south!"

Harry whirled around, and sure enough, he could see people running toward them on the street, as well as jumping from roof to roof to get to their positions. A surge of adrenaline brought Harry to Malfoy's side in almost no time, and once again, he swiftly grabbed Malfoy's wrist, yanking him roughly to a run. With little difficulty, they navigated the strewn bodies on the ground and escaped the small area of carnage to continue on the cracked pavement. Stunned muggles lining the street stared at them as they ran, but thankfully, made no moves to stop them.

Hearing invisible footsteps and panting breath beside him, Harry grinned. "Good work, Olivia. Couldn't have done it without you." A sudden smack to the back of his head almost had him stumbling, but he caught himself gracefully. He threw an injured look at where he assumed was the ex-M16's face.

"Minion, huh? I should've let the bastard shoot you." Olivia snarled.

Harry chuckled. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, I don't really see you as my minion."

"You better damn well not. It's no matter, anyway. I've snitched the idiot's pretty revolver. Consider it my compensation." Olivia's head suddenly appeared, revealing a crooked smile as she shook her hand free of the cloak to show Harry Sell's gun.

Harry laughed. Olivia gave him a wink before drawing his cloak back over her head and becoming completely invisible once again.

Harry continued running, his left hand gripping Malfoy tightly around his arm. Past gaunt faces, surprised faces, worn faces, and even lifeless faces, the three of them moved quickly down the street. At times, rubble or vehicles blocked their way, and they were forced to enter alleyways or buildings to continue onward. His teammates followed their progress high on the rooftops, some gaining access to the ground as they meet ladders or stairs.

The further they ran, the more Harry realized that Malfoy was slowing down until it became an effort for Harry to keep dragging him. "Malfoy, come on. If I leave you behind, the spell will knock you unconscious." He glanced behind him and the first thing he saw was the growing red stain on Malfoy's shoulder, the shoulder which was attached to the arm that Harry was currently pulling. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, and stopped, immediately releasing his grasp.

"What are you doing?" Olivia hissed. "They're still following!" As if to punctuate her words, a few shots rang out, startling the crowd of muggles who had come out of a nearby building to look at the excitement. An invisible hand grabbed his shirt to propel him onward. "Grab the other arm, idiot!"

Harry wordlessly latched onto to Malfoy's other arm, and they continued on, albeit quite awkwardly. Malfoy was gasping loudly, but not making any other sound. Harry winced in guilt, remembering how hard he was pulling on Malfoy's injury as they ran. He winced again when he recalled slamming Malfoy to the ground on that exact same shoulder. The absolute hatred he had felt when he learned of Clarke's death was quite gone right now, and he wasn't sure if he preferred this guilt.

"Doing okay, Harry?" Colin, who had caught up with them after having to climb down a few flights of steps, asked a little breathlessly. Harry met his concerned eyes with a reassuring smile, indicating that he should look ahead.

"Almost at the northern gate," Parvati huffed, the wand that she had stolen back at the Arx held openly in her hand, although she knew not to use it in the city. "Is everyone accounted for?"

"Yeah," Harry heard from behind him. It was Ginny. "All nine, including the prisoner. At least, I'm hoping Olivia's still with us."

"I'm here," Olivia announced. "Fucking tired, though. Are they still chasing?"

"They are," Dean answered. He was somewhere to Harry's left. "They won't follow us past the gate."

Harry nodded, brushing aside the strange stubborn guilt clawing at his stomach as they came to the end of the city, and drew his wand. It felt good to feel the familiar grooves of the wood in his hand. "Once we clear the gate, Seamus, cast disillusionment charms on everyone. I'll mask our scent. The muggles may be easy to dispatch, but Voldemort's pets are a different matter."

Shouts and gunshots followed them right to the edge, and even when the group cleared the city's boundary, they could still see the red laser points tracing the ground. However, it was no use. Outside of Tier 3, or more importantly, outside the range of the magical sensors, Harry and his team were allowed to use their wands, and they wasted no time in casting as soon as they stepped one foot past the open gate.

Immediately, the group felt the sudden shift in environment. Compared to the oppressive depression that suffocated the city they had just left, this place they entered was worse, and very much so. The inhabitants of the land surrounding Tier 3 were dark creatures, monsters that understood nothing but hunger and desire. They fed off anything and everything, and their insatiable appetite did not allow for a pleasant atmosphere. The trees, the plants, even the sky appeared dimmed, as if something had sucked the life out of everything as it drew breath. Probably most disturbing of all, even to the most wary of travelers, the area was deserted. It was certain knowledge that monsters roamed the place, but they were not seen until they descended upon their prey. Muggles had absolutely zero chance of getting even five yards away from the city, and so they had stopped trying. Leaving Tier 3 guaranteed a horrible suicide.

Harry shivered. No matter how many times he had traversed across this place, he would never get used to the horrible feeling of dread and helplessness that accompanied the fear in his body. He was confident in his abilities, and he trusted his team to have his back, but nothing could alleviate the dark creatures' firm grasp on every living thing that dared to enter their home. Although Harry personally had never before lost a member to the monsters, he knew many good wizards and witches who hadn't had his same luck. In fact, more aurors and Order members died from dementors, werewolves, gytrashes, and even foreign creatures like pogrebins than Death Eaters.

Unbearably tense, Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy's wrist, the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips somewhat reassuring. The vision of Malfoy's smile came up in the front of Harry's mind, and he silently marveled at the easy sway of his behavior toward his one-time Hogwarts rival. He had _teased_ the wizard in front of Sell without hesitation, and wasn't that just out of character for him? Harry wished he could glance back and see Malfoy's face, but everyone was currently as invisible to the world as Olivia under his invisibility cloak. Seamus, after all, was a master of obscuring things from view. He was also a master at blowing things up, but Harry knew better than to let him have too much free reign when it comes to that; friendly fire must always be taken into consideration on the battlefield, after all.

Harry flicked his wand again, silently recasting the spell to mask their scents. The uneven ground beneath his boots threw up clouds of dirt with every step, but there was no masking that. Wind moaned like trapped spirits around them, somehow amplifying the stillness that seemed to weigh down on their shoulders. If Harry hadn't known better, he would've suspected that the wind itself was a dark creature, slowly suffocating him by pushing up against his chest, unyielding.

Malfoy's wrist twisted inside his grip, reminding Harry that he was possibly stopping the blood flow to his hand. Slowly, he pried his fingers off of Malfoy, letting him go. It wasn't fair to treat Malfoy like some misbehaving child and yanking him from place to place. The spell he had cast on Malfoy before they left camp that morning would compel the blond to follow him, and even if he could fight the spell, a distance of greater than three meters would render him unconscious. It was the standard spell to use on prisoners, and it was only the thought of Clarke's children that prevented Harry from ending it.

And yet…Harry recalled the tense look on Malfoy's face as he stepped up to face Sell, and the look of pain on his face as they ran and yet had not uttered one complaint. He sighed, and his hand found Malfoy's wrist again, keeping his grip loose to allow Malfoy to break away. His teeth clenched tightly together as he waited for Malfoy to say something.

Surprisingly, he said nothing.

O_O

AN: Critiques and comments welcome =)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

**AN:** Forgive me if I'm spamming my followers. I've been going back and fixing all the grammar mistakes I've found.

**Chapter 8**

"_Hey kid, can you move?"A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. His shoulder blades, which stuck out prominently from his emaciated body, hit the wall, and the rough brick surface easily scratched the fair skin._

_This didn't bother him so much, though. His entire body was covered in scrapes and bruises. What does a few more matter?_

_But the shaking continued, and he wished it would stop. He wanted to sleep. He didn't have the energy to do anything other than sleep these days. Even opening his eyes seemed like too much work. Opening his mouth to tell the idiot shaking him to get the fuck out was near impossible._

_His mind was shutting down again, despite the shaking, so he guessed it wasn't a big deal anyway. He could still get some sleep, and when he woke up he'll find some food and continue his search for Pansy and the rest. The fact that this same thought had passed his mind for the last few days without him actually doing it didn't worry him._

_Distantly, he felt his left arm being lifted by callused fingers, and he heard a sharp gasp._

"_What's someone like you doing here, boy?"_

_Of course, he didn't answer. He simply rolled his head to bury his face into the crook of his other arm, ignoring the stranger without a problem._

_However, a sharp pinprick of pain in his left arm caused him to finally open his eyes, and with difficulty, he raised his head to look up, squinting his eyes against the harsh afternoon sun._

_Squatting down in front of him was what appeared to be a man-sized animal. He blinked. No, not an animal. Just a man. A man with the biggest, unruliest, and dirtiest beard he'd ever seen covering his face._

_The man was still holding onto his left arm, fingers wound tight around his wrist. Half-heartedly, he tried pulling out of the grasp, but he couldn't even twitch a finger._

_Suddenly, and without warning, an almost overwhelming feeling of contentment bloomed inside his body, starting at the backs of his eyes and rushing down to the tips of his limbs. He let out a breath in pleasant surprise when he found that he now had the energy to move. In fact, he _wanted_ to move. A feeling of lightness had permeated his body, making him feel weightless and free. The fatigue, hunger, lethargy, and weakness that had enveloped him and that had successfully prevented any real movements just a minute ago were nowhere to be found. He twisted his arm out of the man's hold, and this time, he was successful. Looking at the man, into those bright, blue eyes, he found himself smiling._

_The man smiled back, tucking something into his pocket. He held out his callused hand again. "C'mon kid, you need to be fed. I can practically play the xylophone on your ribs."_

_The what? He smiled again in answer. It didn't matter if this man was crazy. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. Nothing could bother him. Merlin, he was so happy._

_He heard the man chuckle and once again, he grabbed his wrist and pulled him up to stand with him. He had the energy to hold himself up, and another blossom of euphoria rushed through his body. How many days had passed with him just sitting there, with no energy to do anything?_

_The man was pulling him to walk now, but he didn't mind that. He'd follow, since nothing else really mattered anymore. He felt complete and whole. This must be what the accomplishment of all possible goals felt like. The ultimate reward. He wasn't sure what he had done, but he was completely certain that he'd done it, and here he was, being rewarded. He could finally throw away all of those plans he'd concocted in his head and simply be here, feeling like this. He was done! He completed everything he had to. Nothing was holding him back, and he would never have to worry about anything ever again. He felt _free_. He licked his cracked lips, savoring the word on the tip of his tongue._

"_The name's Sylvester, kid. Do I get to know yours?"_

_He blinked at the man, and grinned. "My name is Draco Malfoy."_

_The grip around his wrist tightened almost unbearably, but Draco forgave him. The pain was nothing compared to this happiness._

"_Well, Draco. Don't you worry. I can take good care of you. Food, a place to rest, anything. Anything at all."_

O_O

When the hold on his wrist suddenly disappeared, Draco blinked rapidly, suddenly aware of the fact that he was currently trekking across the feeding grounds by himself. He looked down at his body to find himself invisible, and noticing the different puffs of dirt being repeatedly thrown into the air, he remembered that he wasn't alone.

Potter's spell still had its hold inside him. It felt like a hook that had impaled itself inside his chest, and he had no choice but to go where the hook led him, like some dog on a leash. However, the spell was nothing compared to the rapid beating of his heart as the image of Sylvester embedded itself into the forefront of his mind.

Draco took in a long breath, letting it out slowly to try to calm himself down. He'd thought he was over it. Pansy, Greg, Blaise, and the rest of his Syltherins…they'd all played a hand in his recovery from the four months he'd spent separated from them. Even Dean unknowingly had helped him heal, kept him distracted. He thought that he'd overcome the suffering, the constant desire and hope and paranoia and depression and scars and begging and desperation and not being able to fucking sleep and pain and—

The hand was back again, around his wrist. Draco swallowed and stared, although he could see nothing but the pale brown dirt beneath him, but he _felt_ the difference. Potter's hand was warm and surprisingly gentle. Not pulling, but simply holding him. Draco recalled the look of hatred in the green eyes at their reunion only yesterday and wondered what had changed. With a smile, he thought of the way Potter and the muggle woman had made a fool of Sylvester and his men back in the city.

He continued walking behind Potter, judging the pros and cons of pulling his arm back a little so that his hand fell into Potter's grasp instead. The picture in his mind almost made him burst aloud laughing, and he decided to leave Potter be. If Potter wanted to make sure Draco hadn't run off, he shouldn't blame him. A small part of him felt grateful for the Boy Who Lived. After all, he knew he could never do what Potter did. Fighting and even dueling weren't really his strong points.

With regret, he was reminded of his potions and his hollowed knife, the two things he _was_ good at, and they were both gone. His right hand moved automatically to his waist, feeling the absence of the belt like the lost of a limb. The movement jerked his shoulder wound, but Draco didn't mind. It probably wasn't too serious as Dean had already treated it.

Draco looked around him, taking note that, once again, there was nothing interesting. He suspected that his Dark Mark had something to do with it, but for all the times he had traveled through the feeding grounds, the creatures never gave him any trouble. He sighed again, this time because of boredom, and wondered what his friends were doing now.

Blaise would be furious, Draco guessed. He would be trying to contact him right now. His efforts would be in vain, unfortunately, as the magic that connected their thoughts did not work in long distances. However, that wouldn't stop him, and he would try again and again until he passed out from the headache that was sure to result. Theo wouldn't much care. That scrawny little wizard, although trustworthy, was used to being independent, and would revert to his role as leader as easily as he did when Draco was captured by the Death Eaters. Millicent was a bit harder to read. She would probably shrug off his absence and resign herself to having to heal whatever wounds he had gotten while he was away. Draco smiled softly as he remembered her decisive hands stitching him up after one disastrous attempt on Avery's life. She was blunt where Dean was gentle, and most of the time, Draco wasn't sure who he preferred as his healer. She had grilled him endlessly, even as he was slipping off into unconsciousness. However, that hadn't stopped her. Millicent had only performed an _enervate_ on him and continued with her scolding, ignoring his whining and pleading to heal him the normal way.

And Greg. Draco knew the big man would say nothing, do nothing, not until Draco returned to him. The man was loyal, stubbornly so, and even to this day, Draco was still clueless as to why. Although he didn't contribute much to their escapades, Greg was important to him, and he understood that he was important to the big man as well. To have a friend who trusted his every move and his every word and stayed faithful with no arguments was, to Draco, priceless.

'_-hear me, Draco? Draco?'_

The unexpected voice in his head promptly caused Draco to miss a step, the tip of his left foot scraping the ground as he stumbled forward. Potter's hold tightened to prevent him from falling flat on his face, and a whispered, "Malfoy? You okay?" interrupted the spectral moaning of the wind.

"Yup. Yeah," Draco hastily whispered back. He regained his footing, ignoring the blush he knew was overtaking his face because, thank Merlin, no one else could see it.

"Something wrong, Draco?"

"No," Draco answered, his eyes flicking to his right from where Dean's voice came.

"You sure? Your wound's not giving you any trou—"

"The kid's _fine_, Healer," the muggle interjected, sounding exasperated. "Goddamn, the way you and Harry's been acting, the kid must be some sorta fucking princess." Snorts of laughter sounded from the invisible group while Draco blinked, not sure whether he should be offended or amused.

"Settle down," Potter said. His voice was stern, although something about it made Draco believe he was trying hard not to smile.

The group lapsed back into silence, continuing their onward march toward the black forest ahead. It was steadily growing darker, despite it being daylight only half an hour before, and the moaning wind held a hint of cold. Draco's stomach let out a silent rumble, reminding him that his last meal was the breakfast cooked by the female Weasley and Creevey that morning. It had taken them the entire day to travel through Tier 3, and they had neither time nor opportunity to eat yet.

'_Draco!'_

Oh, right.

'_Blaise, where are you?'_

'_Fucking hell! Finally the bastard answers! You little shit, I've been trying to contact you for the past hour!'_

'_Sorry, I've been a bit busy.'_

'_Yeah, I saw. How'd you get tied up with Potter of all people?'_

Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised. _'You saw me?'_

'_Yes. Believe it or not, Corbeau found us and led us to you.'_

'_Corbeau?'_ This time, shock hit him like a brick to the face, and if it weren't for the hook in his chest and Potter's hand around his wrist, Draco would've come to a full stop. _'Corbeau's still _alive_?'_

Blaise's tone in his head sounded grim. _'Corbeau's not the only one. After we saw you get away, he led me to Sell's headquarters. Draco, Astoria and Flora are still alive. I saw them, and they weren't there by choice, either.'_

Draco swallowed as his heartbeat quickened. Two of his Syltherins…still alive? After all these years? And Corbeau, his faithful companion, never far from his side – well, his shoulder, really – during his days as the Raven, was alive as well. Unbidden, guilt washed through his body, and he inwardly scolded himself for leaving behind Tier 3 so easily. He should've checked. He should've made absolutely sure that he hadn't left anyone he cared about in Tier 3 _before_ going on his quest for revenge.

With a sinking feeling, Draco remembered that his entire life had been centered on revenge. From his initial desire to have complete control over Tier 3 as revenge against Sylvester and then his drive to avenge the deaths of his friends against the Death Eaters, the past ten years of his life was dedicated solely on getting his payback. Even when he became greedy for power, he'd never let go of the fact that he was hurting Sylvester in the meanwhile.

Dean's disappointed face came up in Draco's mind when he had told him about his reasons for killing the Death Eaters, and Draco shook his head to himself. What kind of leader was he, to leave behind his Sytherins like that?

'_We're gonna get them back?'_ Draco sent to his friend, his face already set in determination.

'_Yeah, of course. Is Potter going to let you go?'_

Draco winced. Right, Potter. He was currently a prisoner. _'Er…don't think so. I killed one of his aurors. And he has my wand…my potions, too.'_

Although it should've been impossible, Draco swore he heard Blaise sigh. _'Don't tell me you don't have a plan. You _always _have a plan. You weren't planning on actually following him to Sanctuary?'_ When Draco didn't answer, Blaise continued, his tone incredulous, _'Seriously? Why the fuck for?'_

'_Dean's here. He—'_

'_That fucking Gryffindor traitor? He was there? I didn't see him, otherwise I woulda cursed his arse, magical sensors be damned.'_

'_No, Blaise. You can't blame him. I told you, his family—'_

'_No yourself, Draco. Because of him, you spend two _years_ imprisoned by Voldemort. And let's not forget that at least twelve of our friends were killed, and many more people who trusted us were killed. Vince was killed, remember? How about Pansy? Daphne? All of those people, all dead, and for what? Four women who can't do shit?'_ A headache was starting to blossom inside Draco's mind, but he gritted his teeth and allowed Blaise to continue his tirade. _'We gave up everything for you, mate. We gave up our families – Flora gave up her own fucking _twin_ – because we believed you when you said the Dark Lord's plans weren't what we expected. We gave up our spots in Tier 1, only to have that piece of shit mudblood destroy us all in the end…and you dare tell me that you're leaving us to follow _him_?'_

'_I'm not!'_ Draco furrowed his brow as some of the ache in his head seemed to transfer to his heart. _'Fuck, I won't leave you. I'll come back. Just give me some time and I'll be there and we'll fetch Astoria and Flora.'_

Blaise was silent for awhile, and Draco took the time to rub wearily at the side of his head. His wound sent a sharp spike of pain through him, reminding him that he wasn't really in the perfect condition to take on Sylvester's stronghold.

'_I wouldn't be contacting you like this if it weren't for the fact that you're our best bet. You're the only one who's ever been inside Sell's place, and you're the best we have at sneaking into places without getting caught.' _Draco winced as yesterday's events came to mind. _'So I'll give you till midnight to get your arse here, otherwise Theo and I will go in.'_

'_Right. See you soon.'_

Draco savored the return of the silence in his head for few seconds, allowing the headache to fade slightly before letting out a long sigh. Corbeau, Astoria, and Flora were waiting for him back in Tier 3, and there's no way in hell he would let them down. Taking another breath to steady himself, Draco forced his feet to stop moving. "Potter, wait."

Around him, the sound of footsteps ceased, and the interrupted clouds of dirt settled back lazily to the ground. Once again, the feeding grounds was as still as death.

"Is there something wrong, Draco?" Dean asked. He sounded surprisingly close.

Potter had stopped, but had yet to say anything. His grip on his wrist was still loose, his palm warm despite the cooling weather.

Draco took another steadying breath. "Yes. You can remove the disillusionment charm. We're safe as long as I have the Mark."

He heard a snort from someone in the group. "Yeah, right. You're trying to get us eaten, Malfoy?" It was Finnigan.

"Of course not. Fine, leave it on." Draco couldn't help the impatience leaking into his voice. "Potter, I need to go back. I have friends back there who need my help."

"Really." The lilt in the feminine voice told Draco that it was the Patil girl who had spoken. "You sure you aren't just aiming to get your Death Eater backup to ambush us?"

Draco rolled his eyes, although the effect was lost as they were all still invisible. "_No_, for fuck's sake. Potter, I have no quarrel with you or your army. I just need to go back for my friends."

"Why just now? Did it really take you that long to come up with that plan to trick us?" Finnigan asked tauntingly. "You really think we'll fall for it?"

The beginnings of despair started to roil up inside Draco, making him feel slightly panicky. Perhaps Potter felt the quickening of his pulse on his wrist, because he tightened his hold for a fraction of a second and then released him. Draco's arm fell to his side and he curled his fingers into a fist. "I swear it, Potter. I want nothing to do with anyone here. This has nothing to do with any of you. My friends and I can contact each other through our thoughts, and I was told that Sylvester's got them in his headquarters. That's the truth, and I need my stuff back. I need to go back."

Draco gritted his teeth as the words came out of his mouth. The words weren't up to his usual standards. They were stilted, awkward, and too desperate for his tastes. He hated this. He hated to plead his case as if he had done something wrong. Killing that maniac auror was probably a blessing, not a crime.

"_Finite_," Potter's voice rang out clearly and suddenly amid the ever whining wind. Abruptly, the group became visible, and Draco could see suspicious faces surrounding him from all sides. Well, except for Dean, who only looked slightly hurt. Draco wondered for a moment, but then recalled the words he had just said: _I want nothing to do with anyone here_. Draco looked away quickly to instead gaze determinedly at Potter. Oh, well. There were more important things than sparing an old lover's feelings.

Seconds passed by silently, interrupted by the appearance of Olivia, who had only just removed the Invisibility Cloak, and the group looked uneasily to Potter, waiting for his next action. Potter only stood still, sometimes returning Draco's stare and sometimes flicking his eyes to roam their surroundings. The sunlight had completely faded by now, and the group was bathed only in the white light of the stars. Just as Draco began to shift impatiently on his feet, Potter opened his mouth. "It seems you're right. Nothing's coming to attack us."

"So what? You can't give him his wand and let him go back! He'll send Death Eaters right to our trail!" Creevey exclaimed, stepping up close to Potter's side. Draco marveled at how the mousy git had retained his squeaky voice even into adulthood.

Potter spared Creevey a quick smile, but when he looked back at Draco, his face turned grim. "Sylvester? That was the man who confronted us before, correct?" Draco nodded. "And he has your friends?" Draco nodded again. "And you're planning to break into his home to rescue your friends?" Before Draco could do anything, Potter turned to Olivia. "Did you kill him?"

The muggle shrugged, gazing at Draco thoughtfully. "I did not. I figured the idiots already have it rough without adding dying to their list. Why? Should I have?"

_Yes_, Draco thought vehemently. But he only shrugged in answer, hesitant to explain his hatred of the man to these people. Even to this day, he was still ashamed of that time in his life, and he was determined not to let many people know of it. Only his Slytherins knew, and he planned to keep it that way.

Potter was staring at him, his head tilted slightly. The light from the stars threw his face in sharp relief, underlying the slightly angled face, the sharp jaw line, the shallow dip beneath each cheek, and especially the harsh slash of the lightning shaped scar. At that moment, Potter appeared almost immortally beautiful, and Draco felt his throat tighten as he wondered where that thought came from.

"I will return your things, and I'll give you one day. After that, you must return, whether or not you are successful." Potter said, reaching into the bag slung across Creevey's back to pull out a familiar belt. The glint of the vials brought a calmness that Draco welcomed gratefully. Potter held the belt out before him, and released it easily when Draco accepted it. "I'll lengthen the distance of the spell, but I can shorten it at any time. Do you understand? If I find Death Eaters coming after us, or if you don't come back by this time tomorrow evening, I will shorten the leash and you'll be knocked unconscious wherever you are."

Olivia tsked, crossing her arms tightly as if to ward out the cold. "So much trouble, Harry. For god's sake, can't you just let him go?"

Potter smiled wryly, and shrugged both shoulders a little helplessly. "Not yet. I owe something to Clarke." He gave Draco a piercing stare, but no longer regarded him with rage or hate. "Go do what you have to do. I know what it's like to want to save your friends," he said softly and glanced around him at the Weasleys, Creevey, and Patil. Then, he straightened, and gestured at Dean. "Give him back his wand, Dean. And Seamus—"

"Yeah, yeah," Finnigan interrupted. The Irishman glared at Draco as Dean handed him his wand. "I don't trust you, and I think Harry's wrong for giving you a chance." The wizard shook his head slightly and sighed. "But despite the case," Finnigan's glare turned even more vicious. "I do hope you save your friends."

Draco widened his eyes in surprise, his grip tightening around his wand and his belt. A movement behind him made him turn to look at the scarred face of the eldest Weasley. "Yeah, Malfoy. Good luck," Weasley said, giving him a crooked smile. His sister by his side gave him an even stare, neither suspicious nor kind, but a far cry better than the expression on Creevey's face.

Potter's hand on Draco's uninjured shoulder turned him back around, just in time for Draco to see Potter's wand touch the middle of his chest. A murmur too low for Draco to hear caused a purple light to emit from the tip of his wand, not so much entering his body as spreading to cover every inch of it. "There," Potter said audibly. "You should be able to be as far away from me as you need. Remember, you have one day." He waited until Draco gave him a nod, and then signaled to Finnigan.

"Right," Finnigan said, and waved his own wand. A second later, the group vanished, except for Olivia, and Draco felt the shivers running up and down his arms at the thought of unseen eyes staring at him in the night.

The muggle grinned at him. "Good luck, kid. Don't die," she said with a wink, and spread out Potter's cloak with a flourish, disappearing underneath with not another sound.

Draco gave a curt nod to the empty air before him. "Thank you," he said shortly before turning sharply on his heels to start back the way they had come.

_Flora. Astoria. Corbeau,_ Draco thought as he began to pick up the pace and run. _Wait just a bit longer. I'm coming._


End file.
